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Rumors have it, that the streets of Nasha Town have all five human senses. Eyes that see all things uncanny, ears that hear all whispers, mouth that exposes all secrets, nose that smells all things foul, and a tongue that devours all things alive.
At the Northeast end of such a town, a boutique stood in its lonesome, hardly attracting customers except for a few who were brave enough. It was not a big shop, but it was exquisite, only offering the finest clothes tailored by the most delicate hands. Only a few could afford to have their clothes made there, if the rumors didn’t drive them away first.
What rumors, you ask? Well, they said the owner of the boutique shop was not one among the living, and certainly not one among humans for sure. You'll feel the cold of a morgue and the eyes of a thousand ghouls on you if you happen to run into him, and Archons forbid if he tries to converse with you! He might bewitch you with his false flattery, with his tongue that drips honeylike words and entrap your soul where none can return from.
So what was he? The speculations ranged from a living dead to the grim reaper himself.
Perhaps he was a vampire, said the housewives who loved to gossip. Perhaps a fairy, said the children who got scolded for getting too close to the shop by their mothers. Once the rumors started, it spread far and wide.
But just like how there were those who avoided him because of the rumors, there were also those who cared for him. Those who knew who he truly was, those who wanted to repay his kindness and those who looked up to him. It was hard to say how these people got close to the owner, perhaps they were foolish, perhaps they didn't fear death.
Among them was one person who drove to the shop every two days to get new clothes tailored, and it was said that the man only allowed the owner of the shop to take his measurements. What relationship they had, not even the streets knew.
It was Colonel Varka of the Mondstadt regime.
The colonel was a well known person even among the townspeople, as he often stopped by and chatted up bystanders. He was a man in his forties, tall and unmarried. Always joyful, never turning away a person in need, albeit god awful at jokes and holding his liquor.
He drove to the town in his expensive Bentley at least twice every week, and never went back without visiting the boutique. Every time he went, he got something tailored and every time, he would ask for the owner to take his measurements.
His frequent visit sprouted another rumor in the town. Why did Colonel Varka come here so often? Was he secretly married, and came to see his wife here? Did he have an illegitimate child living here? Perhaps he was here to do business with the black market folks, living by the port? The rumors came and went, but none could be proven true, as Varka was hardly ever seen with any woman or child, and he certainly never visited the port.
Instead he went to the boutique, every single time.
The owner that the townspeople feared was adored by Varka, who sang praises of the mysterious man everywhere he went. It gave him a strange reputation among the people. The fearless colonel with too much free time.
It was 8 o'clock in the evening when Varka's car pulled up in front of the boutique house for the second time that week. The teen living on the opposite side of the shop watched as the blonde man hurried out of the car and practically sprinted to the doorknob.
The door opened with a jingle.
A pair of eyes looked up from the front desk.
“Ah, Colonel Varka, good evening!” Greeted Rolf, one of the owner's assistants, with a welcoming smile. Everyone who worked at the boutique (which was no more than three people) knew Varka and his fascination towards their boss.
“Good evening Rolf!”
“Let me guess, a new suit? Or perhaps a new shirt–”
“None actually, I think I'm in need of a new uniform.”
The shorter man raised an eyebrow. “So soon? I swear we tailored one for you just a month ago–”
Varka let out a chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.
“That, you see, is unwearable now,” he said sheepishly. “I spilled coffee on it.”
“Oh, not to worry then! We can dryclean it for you and it'll look good as new by tomorrow–”
“Nope! I need a new one! And I need Kyryll to take my measurements for that!” Varka exclaimed. “So where is he?”
Rolf shook his head. Of course he was here to see the boss. As much as he respected the colonel, did he really have nothing better to do than visiting his boss twice a week? Were they secretly lovers–? .....Not a chance! His boss sucked at telling lies and the last time Rolf asked him about his love life, he said he wasn't interested in relationships. So no, Colonel Varka cannot be his boss's lover.
Remembering that the other party was still waiting for his response, Rolf regained his senses.
“Apologies Sir but he's a bit under the weather today...”
Varka’s eyebrows furrowed immediately. “He's sick?”
“Yes, it seems he had come down with a fever…”
Unknowing to both of them, the subject of their conversation was in the next room, listening to them with a sour expression on his face. One might accuse him of eavesdropping, but no. It was just that the walls of the shop were extremely thin.
Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins sat on his desk after being rudely awakened from his nap by a certain loud and cheery voice. It was a rude awakening, for now he was checking his appearance in the mirror and fixing his hair.
Varka was here again, and Flins could already feel heat crawl up his spine at the thought of seeing the man.
Varka first came to the shop six months ago, with an urgent request to get his uniform remade. His first time taking the man's measurement was… unforgettable to say the least.
In the tiny measurement room, they stood face to face, only inches separating them as Flins carefully took his proportions.
‘Colonel your chest is….’ Flins trailed off, holding the tape around the man's breasts. 50 inches. Alright.
‘Huge? Massive? Gigantic?’ Varka asked.
‘Impressive,’ Flins concluded.
It was not his fault that the man also had an award winning smile and heavenly laughter along with his ginormous chest. It was not his fault that his heart was smitten within a matter of minutes.
And now sitting on his desk with a possible fever and a mirror in his hand, Flins was about to do something stupid again. Varka made him do stupid things.
The man rumored to be an eldritch horror put the mirror down and stepped out of the room.
“You speak more than necessary, Rolf.”
“Boss! You're in no shape to run the shop today, you must lie down and rest–”
Flins tutted.
“Do you think I'm some sort of sick child, Rolf? I can handle this. Come this way, Colonel.”
“He's right, Kyryll. You do not look well,” Varka said, which made Flins frown even more. Who asked for his input when Flins himself said he was fine? “Go rest. I'll come back another–”
“Colonel Varka, I request you to not think of me as so weak.” It was Varka's turn to frown. Flins continued. “I promise I'm not as sick as I look. It is just a mild fever. It'll go away after a night of good rest.”
Varka remained rooted on his spot with his arms crossed, examining him up and down. At last, he let out a sigh and loosened his grip.
“Haah, you make me worry sometimes.”
“I'm thankful for your concern, but I really am okay. Now come,” he said, opening the door to the backroom. He then turned and smiled at his assistant. “It’s late so return early today Rolf. Your wife is conceiving, she needs you by her side.”
“But boss…”
“Or are you saying Colonel Varka here is not capable enough to look after me?”
That got a chuckle from Varka. Flins relished himself in the feeling of accomplishment.
“No, of course not! Wait no– I mean of course he is! I'm just saying you should go home too–”
Flins smiled. He was grateful to have people who worried about him so much. He feared he would never be able to repay the kindness he had received in time.
“Rolf, I'll be fine,” he said. “Go home to your wife.”
Once alone in the room, Flins took out his measurement tape and notepad while Varka stood in the middle of the room patiently, watching his every move like a hawk. Flins shook his head, the colonel was such a worrywart.
“Turn around please.”
Varka obeyed and turned around for Flins to measure his shoulders and back. His shoulders were– really broad. Such a shame the colonel had clothes on.
“Turn this way again.”
Varka turned again, but not in silence like Flins preferred. “Is it just me Kyryll, or does your face look redder?”
Too observant.
“I'm fine, Colonel. Now raise your arms.”
Once he raised his arms, Flins took the tape around his middle and measured his chest (despite knowing his size by heart) and then his waist.
Broad shoulders, big chest, tiny waist– heavens above, someone should sedate Flins before he pounced on this man in his deliriousness.
As if the heavens had heard him, a sudden dizziness took over him just as he was about to release the tape and the man stumbled forward, his face landing right on the chest he was daydreaming about seconds ago.
“Ah–”
Varka gripped his shoulders. “Kyryll! Are you alright?”
Archons.
Flins immediately straightened his posture. Perhaps he should've listened to Rolf and returned home today.
“I– yes. Just a little dizzy.”
“Enough, put that tape down.” Varka took the tape away from his hand and put it on the table. “I'll come back again, so go home now alright?”
“But, such unprofessionalism–”
“Kyryll, how long have we known each other?”
“Six months–?”
“Long enough for you to drop your professionalism around me. I welcome it,” he said, dragging Flins to the front door. “Plus you're sick. I don't like making a sick person work for my sake.”
Flins let himself get dragged, too lost in the feeling of the calloused hand wrapped around his wrist. Varka didn't let go until they were outside.
Outside, the chilly autumn breeze greeted them. Varka threw his muffler around Flins and started tightening it around his neck. The material smelled of oakmoss and alcohol. His head spun a little.
However, he wasn't prepared to lose his footing when Varka let go of him.
“Give me the keys. I'll lock– Kyryll?” Flins fell in his arms once again, unable to regain his posture this time. His knees wobbled for some reason. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I– sorry Colonel, my head–”
His consciousness was slipping, fuck. They were right, he was sick and it wasn't just a mild fever.
“Kyryll! Hey– shit!”
The last thing he felt was Varka’s calloused hands on his cheek, followed by a pair of big arms lifting him off the ground as Varka repeatedly called his name.
When his consciousness returned, he was lying on a soft bed, a fan whirring above his head. Flins blinked a few times, trying to remember how he got here.
“You're up, thank the Archons,” came a voice from next to him. The deep voice continued to express relief. “I ended up calling the doctor over here too. He'll be here in a minute.”
Wait, the Colonel?
Flins turned to see the man sitting in a chair by the bed. Varka had taken off his formal wear, and only wore a white shirt with a few buttons undone now. He realized his own overcoat was taken off as well and his hair was tied in a ponytail.
“Where– where am I?”
“In my bedroom,” Varka said casually, like those words didn’t make Flins almost lose consciousness again.
“Huh?”
“You fainted in my arms, and I don't know where you live. I didn't know where else to take you.”
Oh.
“Ugh…” Flins covered his face with his palms. Not only did he insist on taking Varka as his customer tonight, despite being sick, he also fainted in his arms. How embarrassing. “I caused you so much trouble…”
“Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins,” Varka said, “I’m starting to think you don’t consider me as close as I consider you.”
“That’s not it.” Flins quickly replied. “You went all the way to Nasha Town to–” he looked away. To what? To see him? Surely not. “To get your clothes made, only for me to end up being a burden like this.
Varka shook his head.
“Tell me, if I were the one to faint today, wouldn’t you have taken me to your home, or somewhere safe? Wouldn’t you have been concerned for me and looked after me?”
“I certainly would have! I just–”
“Then stop worrying about unnecessary things. I’ve never once thought of my visits to your place as a hassle,” he said. The night owls hooted outside as Flins accepted those words. The moon seemed to be shining brighter than usual today, as it illuminated the entire room. Varka's room was minimalistic, in contrast to his personality. A double bed, a work desk and a closet. A few paintings and awards on the walls and a houseplant in a corner. There wasn't anything remarkable other than the man himself.
“If you must tell me something, there are better words to express your gratitude.”
“....Thank you?”
Varka smiled.
“You’re welcome.” He took a piece of clothing from the bedstand and leaned closer to Flins. “Look this way now.”
Flins did as told without thinking much, and Varka started wiping sweat off his face and neck. Flins leaned back immediately.
“Ah, I can do it myself–”
Varka moved to the edge of the bed and started wiping again.
“Would you please just let me do it? You fainted in my arms Kyryll, do you have any idea how worried I was?”
Flins frowned. He had truly troubled Varka.
“But it’s gross.”
Varka's hand moved to his hair and he pushed back the strands stuck on his forehead. Despite the coldness of the night, Flins felt warm all over.
“Nothing about you is gross.”
While Varka was wiping at his face the doctor arrived. After a quick checkup, he concluded that Flins was simply too fatigued, which caused the fever and ordered that he must have a healthier diet and sleep more. Varka had shot him continuous glares while the doctor listed all of Flins’ ‘bad habits’, while Flins sat with his head down, feeling very much like a child being scolded by their mother.
Once the doctor was gone, Varka retied his ponytail and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
“Wait here, I’ll get you some food,” he said, and left the room before Flins could stop him. Ten minutes later, he came back with a bowl of cream soup and a loaf of bread.
The food was settled in front of Flins on a tray and he carefully scooped a spoonful of soup. It was hard to eat when Varka was watching him like he was a junior culinary student waiting for the chef's judgment.
If he was one though, Flins doubted he'd be in much trouble. The soup was delicious. The vegetables and chicken chunks were well cooked and the soup itself was not too thin, nor too thick. One would not be able to stop at a single spoonful.
“Did you cook this yourself?” Flins asked, taking a bite of the bread.
“Yep,” he said proudly, flashing his canines. “Is it good?”
Flins nodded. “It’s fantastic.”
The night grew older as Flins enjoyed his food in silence and Varka watched him, sometimes chatting him up with small talks. They talked about their work, their colleagues, and their hobbies. Flins learnt that Varka had two older sisters, and he had a niece who he adored with all his heart. His hobbies were hiking and cooking. Flins also replied as best as he could, albeit not being able to share as much as Varka did.
Varka didn't seem to mind. It was as if he was just happy to have Flins in his presence.
“Kyryll?” Varka asked once they had both run out of stories to share. Flins had long finished his meal and put the tray away on the bedstand.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask for something?”
Flins nodded. “You saved my life, I’ll do anything–”
“Stop calling me colonel.” Varka inched closer. Flins could reach out and smooth out his unkempt hair now if he wanted. “Call me Varka instead.”
Flins found himself shaking his head.
“I can't possibly–”
“Kyryll.”
The anticipation in Varka's eyes was overwhelming. Varka had a point. He called Flins by his name, so shouldn't Flins call him by his name too? But to take that step is to–
“Va…Varka.”
It felt too personal. Like Flins was letting someone in his life again, despite knowing the heartbreaks and regrets that came with it.
“Again.”
Persistent. Needy. Whiny.
Flins gave in.
“Varka.”
Their eyes remained locked, until Varka leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his palms, letting out a long sigh. “Huuuuuh.”
“Varka? Are you alright?”
“Yep. Just perfect. I'm on cloud nine,” he joked, but Flins could see his fist clenching on the armrest. He then got up. “Go to sleep now. You need rest.”
Flins grabbed his wrist before the man could turn away.
“But where will you sleep? If this is your bed–”
“See that pile of paper right there?” The colonel nudged his chin towards the desk on the other end of the room, facing the bed. “If I don't sort those out by next Friday, Lieutenant Jean will have my head.
Flins tilted his head in confusion. This man acted like he wasn't the one in the highest position.
“But you're the colonel…”
Varka laughed and when he extended a hand to brush a finger under his eye, Flins didn't lean away this time.
“Sleep, Kyryll. I'll be right here.”
When Flins blinked open his eyes for the second time, it was already morning. He sat up and stretched his arms. The aftermath of his fatigue fever could be felt in his bones. He didn't have to look too hard to find the man who brought him here though.
Colonel Varka slept on his desk, face turned to a side on top of his folded arms. His eyelashes fluttered under the sunlight. Flins drew the curtains by the desk so that he could sleep a little longer.
The man was deep in sleep, his back heaving up and down with every soft exhale and inhale. Flins watched him for a while. He couldn't comprehend how this man was so lovely and so kind. Why was he so kind to Flins? Did he deserve such kindness? He could only pray that the cruelty of this world never touched this man.
Varka made him want to do stupid things. Utterly, absurdly, nonsensically stupid things.
Flins brushed a finger against the colonel's cheek, from the corner of his eye to his sharp jawline.
A kiss on the cheek won't be considered too inappropriate? Right?
He slowly leaned down, and down, down until his lips were merely brushing against the colonel's cheek. He still smelled of oakmoss and alcohol from last night.
One second, two seconds, three seconds–
Flins pulled back.
His face burned. What was he thinking?
He quickly made the bed and grabbed his overcoat. He needed to leave before Varka woke up, lest his poor heart exploded. He would thank Varka later when he visited again, he would make him clothes for free.
For now, he needed to flee.
When Flins left the colonel's house that morning, he expected the man to show up at the boutique again next week, or at least a few days later.
Nothing could've prepared him to see the man's face that same evening.
“That was rude, you know, to leave without a word,” Varka said as soon as he stepped inside. “I was deeply hurt.”
“Colonel–!?”
Flins almost jumped in surprise. How could he meet Varka's eyes when he'd stolen a kiss from the man in his sleep? Shame swirled in his chest. What would happen if Varka found out? What if he stopped visiting Flins?
Varka on the other hand, completely unaware of the inner turmoil Flins was facing, leaned on the front desk.
“I thought I told you to drop the title already?”
Flins blushed, but still avoided eye contact. “I… I apologize for leaving so abruptly this morning. I had to open my shop–”
“Kyryll.”
“Thank you for last night, really, you took such good care of me,” Flins continued, ignoring him. “I should've headed home when you two told me I look unwell, but no, I insisted on staying. My own stubbornness embarrasses me.”
“Kyryll.”
“If you need my assistance in any sort of tailoring, I'll do it for free. Consider it a token of my appre–”
“Go out with me.”
For a few seconds, silence filled his little shop. A few daunting seconds where Flins could hear his own heartbeat.
Did he hear that right?
“What?”
“Go out with me, Kyryll,” Varka was now inches away from him. He now smelled of freshly brewed coffee. “I like you. I want you.”
Flins stared at him, the words stuck in his throat.
“And I don't think I can be satisfied with just one kiss on the cheek.”
“That was–!” Flins exclaimed, turning redder with every passing second. He prayed the ground would swallow him right this instant. “You were awake!?”
Varka nodded. He looked so stupidly proud of himself. Flins wanted to seal that smile with his lips.
“Woke up when you touched my face.”
“Oh…” Flins sighed in his hands. He was dead and this was hell. “This is so embarrassing…”
Varka was still looking at him, and he extended a hand to pry his hands off his face. Flins let him, because what else could he do at this point? He might as well just close this shop and move to another continent.
“I couldn't focus on work all day today because of you,” the blonde man admitted. “I couldn't stop thinking about how much I like you.”
It was a mistake to let the man uncover his face. Flins needed to punch something now, or dip himself in an ice bath.
“Stop it, how can you say such things so casually?”
Varka only held his hands and rubbed the insides of his palms with his thumbs.
“I really, really like you Kyryll. Date me.”
This man was truly shameless. Flins felt as if his face was going to explode.
“Give me a second–”
Varka let go and took a step back from the desk.
“I'll beg on my knees if you want me to.”
“Don't!” Flins stopped him before he did something outrageous. If one of his colleagues were to walk into them right now he would never hear the end of it. He took a deep breath. This was Varka's fault, he told himself. “I like you too, Colonel.”
“....”
Why was he frowning now? Oh–
“Va– Varka,” he stuttered. It seemed he would take some time to get used to calling the colonel by his name. “As you're aware I believe, I'm not the most romantic person, nor am I very… anticipated, around here. I don't know if I can be the one you'll be happy with but–”
Varka's frown deepened. “Hey, none of that.”
“I would love for us to be together. I cannot deny it, I am drawn to you. Like a moth to flame, I keep wanting to be closer to you.” He prayed whatever he was saying made sense. “So… yes, I– I want to date you too.”
Varka stared at him for a long time, and Flins feared he had said something wrong or stupid. In the end, Varka propped his elbows on the desk and leaned closer again.
“You're so cute.”
“...That's all you have to say?”
The man didn't reply. Instead he straightened his back and took out his car keys. “You're closing up now right? Let's go on a date right now.”
“Right now? But I'm not wearing anything fancy–”
“We're just going to grab dinner together, no need for fancy,” he said. “Plus I don't think I can wait another day.”
Then he flashed his signature smile. Flins never thought he would want a man so badly in his life before.
“You make me do stupid things,” he admitted and before he could chicken out, grabbed Varka's tie to pull him forward and kissed the cheek that was left unkissed in the morning.
When he pulled back Varka was gaping at him. Flins pushed his jaw close with a finger and turned to grab his overcoat.
“I hope you have everything prepared for the night, Varka.”