C: Kirill's voice cracks as the man above him grins. He's sweating, as always. His eyes were blown wide with fear as the screaming and crying around him made his head throb even harder. Everything everywhere hurts, Kirill can't remember what it felt like to not hurt.

He reaches out to the man above him, his hand meeting his face. Perhaps if he was kind, maybe this wouldn't happen again. Maybe he wouldn't feel that piercing pain in his socket again, maybe it could've all been prevented.

If he was just kind.

Kirill sat up in bed, his throat burning and his head pounding. He reached up to touch his eye, his hand running along his scarred skin. Clinging onto hope that it, all of it, those 12 days, were just a dream.

The lack of depth perception confirmed his delusions — it was real, there was no saying otherwise. And he was now at home, at the Capital. At a transferred post, no longer part of the army. Too disabled to ever serve again. Too traumatized to do anything normal. His skin was cold, sweat ran down his skin and onto his sheets, his breathing was heavy and Kirill's heart was pounding.

Then, a knock sounded at his door. Kirill's eyes darted across his room (Lord, was it a mess. It was hard to get himself to do much. The Town— he was in a daze, a timeless, looping daze as Darya found fit. It all went back to her. Everything he did, for her. Was it? Or was it for him, oh how he envied her cruelty. Her coldness. She was perfect, he could never be—)

Another knock sounded at the door. Kirill's eyes then focused on his clock. Noon. Dreadfully late for work. Darya would have his head, perhaps she'd do good on her threats and suffocate him with her bare hands.

Maybe it'd stop his head from hurting so much. He reached back up to his eye, the empty socket, and he found it once again empty.

Kirill scoffed. This was unfortunate. The person behind the door was getting angry. Kirill stared at it, tilting his head. He could stand up, he could open it. But it all seemed so blurry and his mind was layered with tar. There was nothing he could do but sit there. Tears ran down his cheeks, he wasn't sure why. He hadn't cried in a week, he was doing quite well for himself. In fact, he was completely void of negative emotions for a while this week. All he felt was a pleasant emptiness, and joy whenever Darya's words teetered on the side of kindness.

The pounding at the door got infinitely worse. Thunk, thunk, thunk— someone screamed on the other side. His eyes focused on the door this time, staring holes into it. He couldn't move anyways. It was so loud. He was apologetic. Sorry.

D: Heavy boots crunched against a mix of gravel and dirt, the dreary weather turning it into the perfect paste to get stuck in every pair she wore. There were more important matters to worry about than some back road, obviously, but she'd complained about it enough to expect some sort of change. Regardless, that wasn't the focus of her trip out here, in fact the source of her frustrations lay hidden behind a door that refused to open despite her clear attempts to rouse the man inside. A gloved hand pounding against old wood time and time again as her brow knit tighter together. He wasn't usually so flippant about these things, nor disobedient, it was entirely out of character and deeply confusing for the already fickle man she tried so hard to understand.

Of course you couldn't, you knew that, but you tried anyway because a part of him held some sort of childish nostalgia. Would he bend to the weight or the world? Would he break? What becomes of a man unable to abandon his heart?

"Kirill," she called, waiting silently at the door for some sort of response. "If you aren't coming to the door then I'm letting myself in," had he already broken? Was she to find a corpse on the other side of the door? Or a man with too many impossible questions and a gun in hand?

The knocks turned into hearty thumps against the wood as her shoulder made contact. Once, twice, she came barreling through on the third, deep brown eyes holding an eerie curiosity that was nothing short of uncanny. Her gaze landed on Kirill, the sight of his shallow breaths earning a huff from the Inquisitor as she stalked over to the couch. "You test my patience Kirill, up, you're not even ready," food, a shower, he needed to be dressed. She'd assess him afterwards to determine his condition.

C: "Miss Darya, we've been sitting here for two hours.... I'm just fine. Don't even worry."

D: ”Until you answer me I am Inquisitor Illyin, understood? Now tell me, how does it feel to kill?”

C: "I don't.... I don't know. I don't know how it feels."

D: ”…You don’t know? Not a statement of avoidance but ignorance, you dont know… is that correct?”

C: Hesistant, for a moment, then, "I've never killed anyone with my hands. I've... told people to kill, I've watched people die. But never once have I taken a life. Yes."

D: ”Did you make the order because you wanted to avoid the blame? The knowledge of what it feels like? If that’s so why would you watch? Some sort of self punishment…?”

C: "I'm scared, Inquisitor Illyin. I fear once I kill, I won't feel the guilt. I would want to do it again... I don't know why I feel the urge to tell you this. My heart is all I have, and once it's gone, what's left of me?"

D: ”You’re shaking,” she points out with less intensity than before, head tilting slightly like a curious animal would

She smiles, it doesn’t feel as friendly as it should, ”You’ll be perfect, call me Darya, we’ll do great things together, Kirill”

C: "Perfect... for what exactly?"

D: ”….For me, you have a perspective I lack. Get up we have work to do”

The writing kind of started impromptu, so alas, it sort of picks up in media res, but we shall make do with such limitations.

D: Honestly the day Kirill finds it in himself to truly harm/kill someone Darya wouldn’t question it in the moment, just get him the help he undoubtably needs (I figure he’d panic afterwards, she’d give him soup and wrap him in blankets and wait for the shock to wear off)

And she does ask, and it’s probably the most human she sounds after a bit, about what led to him making the decision that they needed to die

And she’d hug him, and tell him with confidence that he did the right thing

C: i think Kirill would kill, but in self defense only to be honest, or in an act to protect darya.... an army soldier who's never killed. how ironic is that? and the first life he'd take by his own hands would be in normal civilian life. something he can never live in again, because he's not normal.

he'd look at darya with an emotion he hasn't felt in a long time. anger? bloodlust? his hands covered in blood, he'd probably answer something like "it felt like it was all i could do. there was no way out. i didn't want anything to hurt you."

D: ”It’s good… to see you human, I needed this. I needed you, needed to be reminded that this meant something,” The blood doesn’t bother her, she embraces him in whatever way she can- hands on his biceps? At least until she can get him inside to wash his hands and get him settled proper

C: "It means everything to me. At least... you do." Kirill's voice is quiet, his voice cracks as he speaks as if words were foreign to him. He closes his hands and melts into her touch, leaning his head on her shoulder. "I didn't mean to. I didn't know what else I could do- I-" he tries not to cry. He's never been good at controlling his emotions.

D: ”Tell me,” she tries not to be too demanding when she hears his voice crack, tugging Kirill closer and holding him tight, ”Tell me everything. It’ll be our secret, I’ll tell no one, just you and me”

She’d stand there and hold him until he stopped crying

C: "I got news that he planned to hurt you. Kill you. I didn't know what else to do. I went to talk to him, maybe talk him out of it. It usually- it works. A lot of the time... and he started screaming. He pulled a gun on me and I..." he wipes his tears away, getting blood on his face with his hastiness. "I had to act first."

Kirill feels like he's suffocating in Darya's arms, and it feels right. Heavy. An anchor right now. He wonders- does everyone else feel like this when they kill?

D: She kisses him on the temple, like something a mother might do. She wouldn’t really know- she couldn’t remember her mother’s face let alone the things she might’ve done to soothe her child

”I trust you, Kirill, that has not changed- if anything this only confirms that your heart… your judgement is something I can rely on”

C: "I fear my heart may be ruined. Tainted. Something's ill and getting worse in me." He takes deep breaths, trying to calm his thumping heart. Anything to get his head to stop pounding. "I don't feel bad, Darya. I'm scared— why don't I feel bad? I'm... overwhelmed. Dizzy. But not regretful."

Kirill looks up at her, and frowns. "Aren't I supposed to feel guilt?"

D: ”Mm, you’re asking the wrong person,” She points out somewhat bluntly, though his words do cause her to hook her arm through his and start dragging him towards where she’s staying.

”The guilt comes… later, the uncertainty, but even then that’s no guarantee. Not if you’re sure there was no other choice and you’re firm in your beliefs. You didn’t want him to die… but you’re aware there was no other choice for you. Regardless of wrong or right you made the choice to keep me safe, and to keep you here, that is your duty… and I think there’s nothing wrong in clinging to the resolve of a mission you’re proud of”

C: "I've never considered you a mission. It just feels like this what I'm to do, and there's nothing else for me." He admits, letting himself be guided by Darya. Hesitantly, he mutters, "I suppose in a way it's my duty. I don't know. Ever since the Sand Pest, I've been living day to day in a haze. Trying to not relive everything there."

Kirill's hands ball into fists, "I never even killed anyone back then, at least with my own hands. How ironic that I've spilled blood in normal life. As close to normal as I can get. When was the first time you've ever killed?"

D: She walks in silence for several heartbeats, the concern in her features fading away into something icy and distant

”I can tell you, but you have to promise you’re not asking for the sake of comparison,” a compromise, something she isn’t happy with but… if he’s asking she feels like honesty is only fair

She doesn’t want to hide anything from him

C: He looks at his feet, his voice becoming quiet. "I just want to know." I want to know I'm not alone. I want to know that I'm not doomed. So that I can be a good person. "Not for comparison or anything of the sort. I just want to know."

Darya is everything in his eyes, and if she's killed, maybe there's hope for him.

D: ”I was sixteen,” she confessed softly, a foreign feeling twisting deep within her chest earning a wince from her. She picks up her pace after that in hopes their newfound march would’ve enough of a distraction from the wave of discomfort that washed over her

”It was my father,” she elaborates only when they’re on her doorstep, the rattle of keys breaking up the heavy silence that still hung in the air. She dragged Kirill inside and shut the door firmly behind them, her hand finally leaving him in favor of turning on the faucet to wait for warm water to finally start running.

”Wash your hands,” she ordered as she pointed to the sink

C: He cringes at the thought of killing that young. His face falls upon learning who exactly it was. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked..." he trails off as he turns on the faucet. Suddenly all this drama from killing a stranger seems silly. He wasn't to compare- he told her he wasn't going to. Yet here he was.

As the blood washes away down the drain, his mind wanders. Isn't it so cruel that his hands are washed clean from his sins that quick? That he could live on another day while another couldn't? It's for Darya, it was for Darya. It always was. He apologizes once more, his voice quiet. "You don't need to say more if you don't want to." She's never spoke of her past in depth- always brief mentions and offhand comments.

D: ”I don’t talk about it because people look at me different after, you won’t be one of those, will you?” She warns, fighting to keep her voice soft. He needs gentleness now more than ever, be patient

”I stopped hurting from my past a long time ago, I don’t feel it, you don’t need to mourn for me,” she reminds as she hands him a towel, studying his face intensely for a moment before whacking Kirill in the face with it

”There’s the guilt, I told you,” Stay with me now

C: "I wouldn't look at you in any other way than..." Idolization? Reverence? "than I do now." he decided- noncommittal. Casual. Kirill pulls back as Darya hits him with the towel, and he gives her a small smile. At least she is holding to her word, treating him normally. Despite his tearstained cheeks, he can't help but smile at her.

"I'm sorry you don't feel it. I don't-- you're right. Sorry. Go on."

D: ”You look better smiling,” She points out before putting the towel in his hands this time, to dry his face and finish scrubbing the guilt from his fingertips.

”He’s the reason I am, yes… that’s the sin of every father I suppose- but I mean past birth,” she waves her hand around a bit, rolling her eyes frustrated with her own inability to… talk

When’s the last time she’s spoken to anybody about this…?

Oh… right…

”He hollowed me out… with his own two hands, he told me he’d protect me and this was the result. He promised me it’d be worth it… and eventually… I had enough,” an uneasy smile curls her lips, a clearly forced gesture as that discomfort twisted in her chest again. The world blurred briefly but it was nothing a few stubborn blinks could fix.

C: Kirill sets the towel down, tears building in his eyes. He hates how emotional he is, always is. He looks over to Darya, takes off his hat and holds her in his arms. She's taller than he is, but he tries to hold her anyways. Anything to know, he's there

"Your killing was justified too in a sense then. I suppose any choice is right if willed." Words echoed from a doctor he once knew— "Is that where you are. There's nothing left?"

D: ”Kirill, there hasn’t been anything for a long time…” She isn’t sure if the hug is for her so she wraps her arms around Kirill- much less tightly than she had prior.

”I function off of reason, as far as reason can take me. It’s why I loathe some of the people here talking of… miracles and… nonsense,” she mutters the last part under her breath, dark eyes studying Kirill closely

”You want to cry…?” A question, genuine

C: He wants to lie, he wants to say no, but goddammit, he can't lie to her. Something about her— about the way Darya is. Everything she is. "I always want to, but it's fine. I feel... it's empathy, Darya."

I feel enough for both of us, huh?

He smiles up at her, and the reverence is still there. He still can't help but adore everything she is— "I don't know. Everything I say right now would feel wrong. I want to be here for you, I want to... I don't think I can fix anything but I'm here. For whatever you need. As always." I'd kill for you again.

D: ”You aren’t meant to fix… but you? Being as you are? That helps more than you know…” A different perspective, the heart that she lacks, as much as it puts stress on his mind he helps her make decisions while she pulls the trigger. Perhaps he feels guilty for his advice, he confesses he wants to do more despite the anguish it brings him, he is more precious than words can describe

”Well, if you were to cry, I would suggest we move to the couch is all… maybe get you a blanket… are you hungry?” When in doubt she always offers to feed him

C: Kirill tilts his head slightly. He can't understand why the burden of his feelings would be anything other than unhelpful. But he wasn't stupid, he knows. I feel for the both of us. "If I can, I'd do anything for you. You know that. We both know that. I've killed for you, there's nothing I wouldn't. I'm here for you through everything." He's always been too much, always feels too much. He can't even lie to her anymore.

She's too precious to him. More than anything else anymore.

"Would it be fucked to say I am hungry after all of that?" he laughs, for the first time in a few days. "You know. After murdering someone..." he trails off. The fear, the guilt, it doesn't kick in per se. But it's hanging there, a threat.

D: ”If anything I’d argue you’ve worked up quite an appetite, I’d be concerned if you weren’t hungry. That implies shock, which is no good,” she shakes her head lightly, her faint smile still present as she stared down at Kirill

”….Let me go,” slightly impatient, she didn’t do hugs and this has lasted longer than most. She needed to get dinner ready-

C: Kirill's face turns red. "Sorry- I didn't- I-" He lets go of her and plays with his hands. They're still slightly wet. Blood is still underneath his nails, he would have to dig into them to get them out. "Are you going to eat too? We could have a meal together again and- hm."

He was making a fool of himself. When was he not? Ah, oh well. He just murdered someone, he was allowed to.

D: ”Well of course we’d eat together, I was… I’m inviting you,” She stares- shivering the moment she’s free from his arms. In fairness it’s no fault of Kirill’s… she often had an aversion to touch

”You worry, go shower if you need, dinner will be… soon…” she waves him away, out of the kitchen she’d order if it were any other day… but today felt special

C: "Okay. Yeah- I suppose I need to shower huh. I- um." Of course he forgets how to talk now. Coherency was a privilege when it came to a brain like his. He looked down, at his feet. "Thanks, by the way. For all of... this. And telling me. I mean it, by the way. I'd do anything for you."

He turned away. He could shower. He could be a person, he could get his shit together and take a shower. He looked back at her one more time- before leaving. He would be fine. He had to be. What kind of bodyguard wouldn't be fine after protecting what he's meant to.