#[< hopefully dkfkdk]

[bridges-to-ashes]

Eating more than once every few days could help.

Well, that's a mood!

I don’t want it to be a mood. I want it to be fucking done. I’m so hungry.

[elysianfiction]

Hand holding 22 for Ilya(friendship) 👉👈🥺

22. Grabbing the other's hand to pull them away from something.

Ilya has always known he would die young, having escaped death more than once already, only he wouldn't have expected it to go down like this.

Dying of a heart attack for playing babysitter after one of the most clueless, peripherally unaware persons he's ever met.

It's cute, he supposes, knowing someone as mysterious and desired as you is nothing but a clumsy wanderer once put in simpler battlefields such as markets and cities' streets.

It would be cuter, if Ilya didn't have to watch your every step, least you suddenly disappear into thin air or somehow manage to off yourself over a stand of tangerines.

"I'm not payed enough for this," Ilya sighs, throwing a coin to one vendor and grabbing an apple, biting into it eagerly. "I'm not being payed in the first place!"

Ilya licks his lips, sugary sweetness permeating the fragile skin.

He blinks and apparently that's all the time you need to wander off out of sight, making the blood thrum loudly in his ears.

"Goddess gift me the virtue of patience, for if you give me strength I'll end up strangling somebody," Ilya hisses through his teeth, the once honey sweet apple in his palm now leaving behind a rancid aftertaste.

Fortunately for him, it doesn't take long to find you among the crowd, although Ilya has to wonder how you're able to put so much distance between the two of you in such a short amount of time.

He makes his way through the masses, slipping past cheerful merchants and overly loud children roaming around, violet eyes never leaving you.

The sharp but harmonic sound of trumpets spurs Ilya to move faster, grabbing your hand just in time to pull you away from the street, into a narrow pathway hidden behind one of the many stands.

You gasp in surprise, but Ilya simply squeezes your hand twice. A signal you've practiced too many times to keep count.

You stiffen when a platoon of imperial soldiers makes its way down the streets, partying the crowds like water.

Ilya will have to send Julian a note, to warn him and the others of unwanted guests, but for now he pushes the thought away.

"What's wrong, friend? Scared of a few idiots dressed in red?" Ilya jokes, squeezing your hand once more. "I'm here, aren't I?"

You huff, muffling your laughter, but your eyes are a little too sharp, a little too feral. "He's here, too," you say, watching the parade continue mere steps away. "Nikolai."

Ilya blinks, confused, but he doesn't voice his thoughts. Instead he merely keeps holding onto your hand, doing so until the methodical sound of marching steps finally disappears into the distance.