Chapter Text
Nothing about this should’ve made him feel at peace. Or maybe his stress had reached the point where all he could feel was calm. The drone of multiple mixers and hoods running, thudding, clinking, and idle chatter would do enough to drive most people insane.
Yet Amir would rather be here in his daughter’s bakery than anywhere else. He never would’ve thought he’d have ended up here, working in his daughter’s bakery years after the protocol disbanded. It almost made him feel like he was back in the VALORANT headquarters, in one of their numerous workshops, listening to the others talk while tinkering on their own devices — white noise he never thought he’d miss.
It was strange, really, to go from saving the world to working a mundane job. He now donned a flour-dusted blue apron and a hairnet instead of his iconic coat and hat. Instead of typing away on a keyboard and glaring at multiple screens, he punched numbers at a register. The all-powerful Amir, who once had the world’s information at his fingertips, now worked tirelessly in the kitchen, checking inventory and making so many petit fours that a certain Vincent Fabron would weep from joy.
It wasn’t the retirement Amir expected to have, but frankly, he relished this new chapter in his life. His family was safe, his identity remained anonymous, and as of right now, Cypher had never existed in the world. Though Amir still kept a close watch of its status, life was, to say the least, simple. Normal, even. Peaceful.
Well, as peaceful as it could get, anyway.
“Do we not have any clean bowls?” Amir heard one of his colleagues say rather frustratedly. Nina’s voice, he thought. “I swear, I just had them next to me.”
“Sorry! This batch needs, like, five colours of icing,” Aurora, another employee, called out. “The rest of them are in the dishwasher!”
“Ah, yeah, just what I needed: hot metal bowls fresh out of the dishwasher that I have to wipe down…”
“Just steal some from Najma’s station. She’s at the front anyway.”
“Yeah, and have her yell at me when she comes back?” she quipped.
“Girls, please,” Amir said, used to their antics. He couldn’t turn around now lest he mess up the pastry cream. “Check the cages. We have more bowls.”
They scurried away, and he sighed through his nose. Yes, he told himself. Peaceful. Some things never changed — even here, he was surrounded by those much younger than him, closer to his daughter’s age.
Just as he finished pouring the pastry cream into a bowl, his daughter, Najma, popped up beside him. “Can you handle the register?” she said hurriedly. “A man walked in, and he looks kinda intimidating.”
“Mhm,” he said absentmindedly, focused on scraping the sides of the bowl.
“I’ll handle this. Go now,” she nudged him aside and took over the stove, “‘cause there are other people before him. Please?”
Amir quickly washed his hands. As he dried them, his eyes swept the front-of-house through the serving window that separated the front from the kitchen. He spotted a regular waiting by the register, a few customers lingering behind her waiting for their turn, a couple by the display fridge looking into their options, and…
Sova?
Amir froze. No, he thought uselessly, that’s not Sova. But that was a complete lie, because who else had long, blond hair, an X-shaped scar over his right eye, and was so ridiculously tall that he’d have to crane his neck to look him in the eye?
What in the world is Sova doing in my daughter’s bakery? Immediately, questions swirled in his head — negative hypotheticals that tied back to the safety of him and his family. Did he finally manage to uncover who he was? Did Sova, ever the hunter, manage to track down Amir? After everything they’ve been through?
Was the life he spent so long maintaining and protecting about to come crashing down on him?
But now was not the time to panic. There was business to attend to. He knew that Sasha knew that there was a time and place for everything, and he wasn’t about to go ahead and make a commotion in public.
Behind closed doors, however…
He quickly recollected himself and went to the register with a smile. Sova — or Sasha, since they no longer worked in the protocol — was innocently peering into the display of desserts while he tended the register, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Some chatter and payments later, the line had died down, and soon enough, it was just the two of them by the counter.
He was still looking into the display fridge with an unsure look on his face. He looked like he was genuinely considering every option they offered. And he still has that cowlick, Amir’s thoughts added unhelpfully. It pairs nicely with that bun.
Sasha appeared just as Amir remembered, with some minor differences. For one, Sova was older, with little streaks of gray breaking up the gold of his hair. And it was in a bun. Sasha had never put his hair in a bun before. He was also tastefully bundled up for the chilly weather outdoors: he wore a dark blue coat and a white scarf, reminiscent of his old cloak.
One detail Amir latched on to was that Sasha had two brown eyes. It wasn’t hard to notice, and when he did, he decided it was an incredibly unusual sight to behold and kind of off-putting, too. He knew that Klara had offered to switch out Sasha’s eye so that it matched his natural eye colour, but Amir had already left the headquarters before the adjustment was made. He hadn’t seen it in person until now.
A part of him wanted to call out and greet him like old colleagues, but he stopped before any words came out. He settled on saying something else. “Would you like some assistance?” Amir said, his voice steady. He hoped that his voice didn’t give away his astonished state. Sasha finally looked at him, and he looked taken aback. Perhaps from the familiar sound of his voice.
“Oh. Sorry, uh, I’ve never been here before. Do you have any recommendations?”
Oh, yes, he thought upon hearing that thick and familiar accent, this is definitely Sasha. He hasn’t heard his voice in years, and an ache resurfaced within him. Confronted with an especially familiar face from the past, he didn’t fully grasp how hard it would hit him once he heard him.
Amir would admit he missed him. A lot. More than he’d like to admit, actually.
“I’d be happy to walk you through our options,” Amir said. He already knew which ones he’d like. He only hoped that his preferences hadn’t changed. “I recommend the orange-pistachio tartlets. They’re one of my favourites. And if nuts aren’t your thing, the fruit ones are pretty popular.”
He caught the way Sasha’s brow quirk up when he mentioned the pistachio tartlets, and a triumphant little feeling coursed through him for being right, even after all these years. “And the little cakes?”
“The yuzu-berry petit fours are delicious.”
“Yuzu?”
“It’s a lemon.”
“They all have citrus,” Sasha noted, and Amir chuckled.
“Not a fan? I can recommend something else.”
“No. I mean, I am. I was always the one who picked out the lemon desserts on the table at work.” I know, Amir thought. That’s why I recommended them. “I’ll have two of the pistachio tarts, the fruit ones, and the cakes.”
“Petit fours.”
Sasha smiled abashedly at him, and a feeling stirred in his chest. “That.”
As his heart did a funny little flip, it then clicked for him, embarrassingly later than he’d like, that Sasha didn’t know who he was. He had been so focused on the thought of Sasha knowing who he was that he didn’t consider that maybe he had no idea who he was. The tables had turned, and now Amir had no idea what to do.
“Excellent,” Amir said with a smile. He hurried to pick the desserts from the display fridge, eager to distract himself. “These three are some of our most popular products.”
“I’ve heard,” Sasha said, getting Amir to raise an eyebrow at him. “I was recommended here by a friend of mine. They said that they liked the pistachio tarts you recommended.”
“Did she? Well, I’d say your friend has good taste,” he said cheekily, and he wondered who he might be talking about. “We take great pride in making our products.”
“As you should.”
“Is there anything else you’d like?”
“No, that’s all.”
Amir packed up his order, and he pulled out a line of ribbon from their boxing station to tie a nice bow around the box. He asked him if he’d like a bag, and he said no. He then placed the box on the counter, and he punched some numbers on the register. An easy task that somehow felt really, really off.
This is fine, he told himself. It’s just another moment of customer service. It’s just Sasha.
As Sasha dealt with the payment terminal, though, he couldn’t help but stare as discreetly as he could. He couldn’t help himself — old habits die hard, after all — and he noticed that their former scout looked… relaxed. He wasn’t used to two brown eyes, but they appeared softer, and he no longer wore the slight frown he had always worn. Sasha had always been a stoic man — even when they were together, he had never seen him in this state of peace. But he quite liked the look of this Sasha, crinkled eyes and all.
Feelings he had buried years ago threatened to resurface, and in a flash, Amir desperately wanted to know more about him before Sasha left the bakery. But the transaction was quick, and Sasha was already pocketing his wallet and picking up the box with care.
“Have a good day,” Amir said as he handed him the receipt. The blond thanked him, smiled at him again, and left the shop.
With the bakery now empty of customers, he groaned at himself, and he hung his head down while his hands held onto the ledge of the counter to steel his nerves. Through his lashes, he found his gaze lingering at the shop’s door. Sasha had already disappeared from the window’s view.
Surely, it was a massive coincidence that Sasha was in the bakery. There was no way that he succeeded in tracking down Amir; he had been so careful in scrubbing Cypher off the face of the earth. Even though he was certain he didn’t recognize him, he could never be too cautious about it…
“That was the guy I was talking about.”
Najma appeared beside him with a tray of freshly decorated tartlets. “Him? He’s not intimidating,” he said. He waved a hand towards the door. “He’s… not. He’s not.”
“Says you. You’re acting weird.”
“I’m fine, habibti.”
She studied him, her eyes narrowing as she did so. “He didn’t threaten you or anything, right?”
“No, habibti, I—” Amir stopped himself, and for a moment, he debated telling her. He wanted to come up with a lie — force of habit, he supposed — but he’d really prefer her knowing the truth than have her believe that he was checking Sasha out. But, well, he didn’t quite want to tell her they dated back then either. “I worked with him. I was just surprised to see him here, that’s all.”
“Really? Hm. That explains the staring,” she said contemplatively. Then, with a shiver, she added, “I thought you found him, I dunno, hot or something.”
Amir sputtered, heat creeping up his neck, and she laughed. It wasn’t what he was thinking about at all. “Okay, now,” Amir said exasperatedly at his daughter’s ridiculous thought. Sure, yes, Sasha did look nice with the bun and the scarf and the coat, but anybody would’ve found him good-looking. “Where on earth are you getting these ideas?”
“Seriously? I was watching you through the window. It looked like you were checking him out, baba,” she said nonchalantly, and she flashed him an awfully mischievous smile while she restocked the display fridge. “I see your eyes. Up and down, then back at his face.”
“That was not the case,” he grumbled, embarrassed to be caught by his own daughter. “I recognized him. That’s all.”
“And he didn’t recognize you?”
“He… He doesn’t know what I look like.”
“Huh?” Amir looked at her pointedly, and she quickly remembered why. “Right. The whole mask thing. Wait, so he’s never seen your face?”
Unfortunately not, he told himself. Even though I had wanted to once. “None of them have ever seen my face.”
“Wow. Somehow, that’s a little reassuring,” she muttered. Maybe it was an intentional jab, perhaps it was indirect, but regardless, a twinge of guilt poked at Amir’s chest.
“Najma…”
“Eh,” she shrugged. Then, perhaps in an attempt to change the sudden shift in mood, she said, “But look on the bright side. He has no idea who you are. Maybe you can shoot your shot.”
“Najma."
“Kidding. Maybe.”
A part of Amir cursed her for inheriting his teasing nature as she finished displaying the tartlets. The conversation quickly dissolved when a couple walked into the bakery, and Najma quickly dipped back into the kitchen. It looked like he was stuck at the register until someone else tapped him out.
He soon fell into the usual bustle of the bakery, but the thought of Sasha lingered in the back of his mind. The itch to know more lingered, and that itch remained under his skin long after they closed up shop. He couldn’t stop thinking of their encounter. Or of his brown eyes.
Amir had to talk about this to someone, or else he’d lose his mind. Leave it to Sasha to do so once again.
— — —
“I swear it was Sova!”
Through a video call, Hazal stared at him, unimpressed, while Amir paced around in his kitchen. She was not in her apartment, he noted. Omen, on the other hand, remained silent as he knitted. “Are you sure he wasn’t some other guy with long, blond hair?” she said.
“What other blond man has an X-shaped scar over his right eye? And spoke with a thick Russian accent? And don’t say his double,” Amir said exasperatedly, and she snorted. He knew she was like this for no reason other than to amuse herself, but he let it fly over his head. “That was Sova!”
“He moved just recently,” Omen said, not looking up from his knitting needles. “A few weeks ago, I think.”
“Yes, yes, I saw his text in the group chat. But I didn’t know he moved nearby.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. You tell me,” Amir said pointedly. “He doesn’t keep in touch with me.”
“He doesn’t?”
“Why would he? I was the one who broke up with him. I assume it’s generally agreed upon to cut off contact with your exes,” he said, though he never expected that decision to end up biting him back years later. He added before Fade could say it, “Nora is an exception. We have a daughter, Hazal.”
She snickered, and the wraith grunted and offered nothing else in response. “Sova called him a few days ago to tell him about the whole settling-in process,” Hazal said. “Omen mentioned that there was a bakery in the area…”
Amir stared dumbfoundedly at the two of them; she was smiling at him as the dots connected in his head. “You… you led him to my daughter’s bakery?” he said, his voice accusatory as he gaped at Omen. “He did say someone recommended her shop…”
“Yeah. Omen,” she said.
“But you don’t even eat. What prompted you to recommend a bakery?”
“You know I like Najma’s pistachio tarts. He mentioned Tala and I, and how we’ve been to your area before. Sova went there himself to check it out, I guess.”
“You guys still led him to her bakery!”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Well, n-no. But a heads-up would’ve been nice,” Amir said, and she chuckled at his annoyance. “It nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“What’d you even do if we had told you he was going to swing by?”
“I… I don’t know.” His voice had dropped, and he wondered what he could’ve done. “I don’t think I would’ve done anything.”
“Regardless, I don’t think it would’ve made his arrival any less surprising,” Omen said, and Hazal hummed in agreement.
“I think it would’ve made things less awkward for me. Seeing him completely threw me off!”
“Okay, Amir. Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffed.
“I’m serious! Do you know how bad it was?” he said defensively, crossing his arms in a huff. “Najma thought I was acting weird because I found him cute. ”
Omen finally looked up at the screen, and Hazal laughed. Amir’s face pinked from embarrassment, or possibly from the memory. “Did you?”
“Of course I did! He’s my ex!” he scoffed. “And I wouldn’t necessarily call him ‘cute…’”
Hazal wrinkled her nose. “You have interesting tastes in men.”
“Nothing like falling for the man who wanted you dead for a while,” Omen reminded them.
“A while is a severe understatement.”
His face burned hotter, and he thinned his lips. “You two… Ugh. That doesn’t matter. None of that mattered. I didn’t tell Najma we dated; I’ve only told her we worked together.”
“So, she knows a part of the truth. I’m surprised,” she said, sounding genuinely so. “Well, what made her think you found him cute?”
“I’m not answering the question.”
“Oh, come on, Amir.”
Amir turned away from the screen, trying to calm his blush. He could not believe he was talking about this to Hazal, and Omen was no help; he said nothing about the whole ordeal. “She said that it looked like I was checking him out. Teenagers, I swear…”
“Were you?”
“Hazal.” She laughed at his misery, but with a sigh, he decided to sate her humour. “Najma — goodness — she said that since Sasha didn’t know what I looked like, maybe I could ‘shoot my shot.’ Telling her I worked with him did nothing to stop that line of thinking, I suppose. Imagine if I told her I dated him.”
“Teenagers,” Omen repeated. “She reminds me of the others.”
“It may be endearing now, but knowing her, she will bring it up again,” Amir muttered. “She’s with her mom now, but tomorrow, when we open up shop, oh, she’s going to ask me all about him because I never open up about my job.”
“Uh-huh,” Hazal said.
“Whatever I’d have told her, truth or not, it wouldn’t have swayed her thinking,” he sighed. “Technically, I didn’t lie to her. We did work together. She doesn’t need to know that we’ve dated.”
“And all of this stemmed from the way you looked at him?” Omen said unhelpfully, and Amir shook his head disapprovingly.
“What did he even look like?” Hazal asked.
“He looks the same, cowlick and all. Except he had longer hair. His hair was in a bun…” he murmured, glancing away. Then he sighed dejectedly, and he leaned against the counter behind him, completely missing Hazal’s raise of her eyebrow. “I swear, I thought he was hunting me down. And for a moment, I thought he succeeded.”
“Honestly, Amir, I think you’re being paranoid,” Hazal said. “And that’s coming from me.”
His face scrunched disapprovingly at her words. “You, of all people, should understand where I’m coming from.”
“I’m saying you should give yourself more credit.”
Amir grumbled to himself with a shake of his head, incredulous. “Can’t a man be understandably worried about it?”
“Mm. Well, he texted me earlier. Said that he went to the bakery and sent a picture of the box,” Omen butted in, and he held up his phone to show them the photo through his webcam. “He said they looked good.”
“See, Omen, if you had said this earlier, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with Hazal right now,” he said, and Hazal chuckled.
“It’s entertaining.”
“Fine. Whatever, I’m glad you both can find humour in this. Anyways, did-did he say anything about me?”
“Mm.”
Amir groaned at the response, or the lack thereof. He was certain the wraith had joined Hazal’s antics. “Omen, for the love of… Drop the act.”
“He said you ‘sounded a lot like Cypher,’” he continued, finally telling him what Amir had been longing to know today. “And for a second, he thought it really was you. But he said, and I quote, ‘Cypher wouldn’t be working at a bakery. Why would he work at a bakery?’”
Amir shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. “He’s not wrong,” he said softly. “I never would’ve thought that I’d be doing this after everything that’s happened, either.”
“I don’t think he suspects you.”
“See, Amir? Nothing to worry about,” Hazal said, and he shot her a glare. “Did you guys talk at all?”
Amir groaned. “No. He asked for recommendations. I told him, and he bought them. The tarts and the petit fours? I recommended them to him.”
“And that was it?”
“Of course! He had no idea who I was! I boxed them up, he paid, then he left. What was I going to say? ‘Hey, Sova. Remember me? It’s Cypher! Isn’t this a funny coincidence?’”
“You could’ve,” Omen murmured.
Hazal was still looking at him with that highly amused expression, as though she was watching a soap opera, and Amir sighed at how useless his friends were being right now. “I wouldn't have. Not-not in Najma’s place, at least.”
“So you’ve thought about revealing yourself to him?” she said. “Hell, that’s a big deal. Nobody in the protocol knows what you look like but Omen and I.”
“Yes. No! I don’t know.” He dragged a hand across his face, unsure of what to actually do. His sentimental side was saying yes, oh, yes, show Sasha his true face and hope for reconciliation. It would be nice to have him back in his life, even as a friend.
But that was wishful thinking. His more rational side, of course, was saying no, to keep that distance between the two of them. The fewer people who knew of Amir’s identity, the simpler and easier his life was. The heartache would leave, as it had before, and it’d be as if nothing had happened.
But what he truly wanted was a lot more appealing than the latter. Their relationship was complicated, and it had its flaws, but… he really did like Sasha.
“No. Absolutely not. And I’m not actively going to seek him out. I’ve long since left that chapter in my life. And I have the promise to the protocol to uphold. I’m a man of my word. No more snooping,” he said conclusively, ignoring the louder side of him. He still snooped, of course, just not on the former agents. Well, maybe he did, but very minimally. One simply couldn’t stop after doing it as a job his whole life. “The fewer people who know who I am, the better. Besides, I don’t— uh, I don’t think he’d be too happy to see me.”
“Funny, because I think he’d laugh to know you work at a bakery now,” Omen said unhelpfully, gaining him a snicker from Hazal.
“I still have a reputation to uphold, you know,” Amir sniffed, looking at the wraith warily. “Baking is a respectable job, but it’s quite the jump from cybersecurity.”
“You two didn’t end on bad terms. What makes you say he wouldn’t be too happy to see you?”
“You could say the same about me and Nora,” he said quietly. “I know he doesn’t hate me. The break-up all came down to protecting my identity and my family’s safety. Honestly, I want to reconcile. If circumstances were different…”
A silence lapsed between them. Amir mused over the whole thing, from Sasha’s visit to whatever nonsense his friends were saying now. The solution to the problem was so clear, crystal, in fact, but Amir had always been sentimental. Being around his family since retiring had softened him up, too.
This problem had nothing to do with his job anymore. It was entirely personal.
“Maybe you should listen to Najma. Shoot your shot,” Hazal said. Speaking of nonsense. It was horrible advice, and they both knew that, but it still held some merit. “Start over. Clean slate.”
“That’d be horrible for my conscience. I can keep it up, but Sasha deserves better than that,” he grumbled. “Okay. You know what? I’m just going to leave this alone. It was just a shock, that’s all. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be seeing him around the bakery. I’m sure he’s a busy man; he’d go crazy otherwise.”
“Oh. He just texted me,” Omen dropped casually. Clearly, whatever Sasha sent was more important than the crisis Amir just had; he’d stopped knitting to respond to Sasha while he barely gave any input to Amir’s situation. Not that it would’ve helped him, anyway.
“What did he say?”
Omen hummed and showed them his phone’s screen. It was a low-angled photo of Sasha mid-chew, and he was holding a half-bitten orange-pistachio tartlet. The dessert was tiny in his hand. Then again, they weren’t big in diameter.
Amir frowned at the angle of the photo. A blush rose to his cheeks. “He’s only eating them now?”
“He got new furniture today. I assume he was busy building and was saving Najma’s baked goods as a reward.”
“Good choice,” Hazal said.
“He said he likes it.”
“Good. Well, that’s good. I’ll be sure to relay the message to Najma,” Amir said coolly.
“Maybe you’ll see Sasha again,” Hazal said with a raise of her eyebrows and a small smile. “He might come back and buy more stuff from you.”
He thinned his lips. “Tala is a horrible influence on you, you know?”
“I’ve been like this, Amir. Not everyone needs to know this side of me.”
“Have hope, Cypher. You’ll have your chance again.”
“I genuinely don’t know if I’d like that or not.”
“Of course you do. You still find him attractive,” Hazal interjected, and he cursed at her in Arabic. “You wouldn’t turn down an excuse to stare at him some more, I’m sure.”
Right, then. His friends were no help at all, and they acted more like his daughter than former colleagues. All these years of teasing and egging the protocol on have finally caught up to him, and it just had to be from his two closest friends and his daughter.
“Sasha looks like Sasha. And how he looks has nothing to do with this at all!” he grumbled angrily, though flustered, which didn’t help his case.
“I’m sure you know you can literally look him up online,” Hazal said, as if it were obvious. “He’s a wildlife photographer. Don’t tell me you did not try to look your Sasha up after the disbandment.”
He did, for starters, but that was years ago. He hasn’t bothered since, mainly for his sake. He knew Sasha liked photography as a hobby, but he didn’t know that he would pursue it as a career. “He’s not my Sasha. And I did look him up, thank you. But that’s all superficial information. All I know about Sasha is that he has a successful career as a photographer and that he likes my daughter’s desserts. And everything else before that.” He sighed. “This just adds more fuel to the fire.”
“Then you’ve got to learn how to talk to the man, Amir, because even though this is funny to watch, I’d really prefer not to hear about this so much,” Hazal deadpanned. Amir sighed dramatically just to rub it in. “I’ve heard more than enough relationship woes from our old colleagues.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my woes to myself from now on.”
“You’ll get your chance, Cypher. You always do,” Omen said, and it was possibly one of the more encouraging things either of them had said to him about this. “You’re familiar with the waiting game. He’ll come again. He liked her desserts.”
“Yes, I suppose,” he said quietly. “Though despite everything I just said, I genuinely don’t know if I want to see him again.”
“Maybe Najma can help,” she said.
His face scrunched at the thought of his daughter trying to help him talk to Sasha again. Knowing her, she would be very down to do so. But she would also never let him live it down. “Absolutely not. I’m not dragging my daughter into this. And I’m not that desperate.”
“Sure.”
“I’m ending this call,” he said abruptly. Hazal looked incredibly amused. “Good night.”
He left the call — just in time too, as the timer on his phone went off — and he sighed to himself as he went to fetch the loaf of sourdough out of the oven. Talking to his friends gave him more trouble than it was worth. Was this karma for everything he has done? Amir thought that yes, it was.
Amir wondered what advice the others would’ve given him — not that he would ever ask, but he thought of it anyway. Maybe Sunwoo would offer a more sensible approach to his situation, but he wasn’t keen on asking someone younger for relationship advice of all things. Liam might’ve been helpful too, but he wasn’t one to open up about relationships either.
Amir accepted that in order to get to know him, he would have to actually talk to him. That was, if he returned. He was torn between wanting Sasha to visit again and not seeing him ever again. It wasn’t his decision to make, and he didn't know why he was stressing over something out of his control. The surge of emotions he felt earlier was both a comfort and a painful reminder of what could’ve been…
No. He was Amir, for goodness’ sake. He had faced far worse things than lost love. He concluded that it was best if he never returned. He was not a stranger to those feelings. Having gone through it with Nora, he would go through it with Sasha again. They were both rational folks. They had spent years risking relationships for their identities.
One more time. And it would all be over soon. Tonight, however, the idea of stuffing himself with buttered slices of warm sourdough was tempting. Nothing wrong with eating one’s feelings.