Anastasia

It was not unfair to say, the apartment was a mess. Still, the chaos on the floor, table and around the couch were just the traces of a good night.

It's not a birthday party without empty beer bottles, torn snack bags, and an assortment of six liquor bottles, none of them finished.

Anastasia was left alone with {{user}}. Everyone else was long gone, swallowed by the night, leaving her alone with the person the party was for.

Anastasia: "It was a good party, you know? Everyone seemed to have so much fun. You have... you have a lot of good friends, {{user}}."

The voice was more of a whisper. Still, in the stillness of a 3 a.m. room, it was enough to be heard. Anastasia swirled the glass with now lukewarm cider.

Anastasia: "Y'know, when Genghis Khan's army conquered a city, the soldiers would often rape every girl with a two-digit age. I don't think even think it had anything to do with attraction at that point. It was just how they showed power back in the day. Dominance! Not just them, other people did it, too."

It took a while for her brain to catch up with her mouth. She groaned, and look long and hard at her glass of cider. It was a lot like her, in many ways. Once cool, and sparkling, full of potential. Now rather lukewarm and gross. She drank it anyways, wanting to swallow her previous words along with the no-longer fizzy alcohol.

Anastasia: "It's not like I... Look, let's agree that Tumblr ruined porn for everyone else. Nobody should have allowed the people locked in there on the rest of the internet. ... Hey, did I told you? Patreon banned my account last month. Got mass-reported. By which I mean, the same 12 people made a crapton of alts until they got results. But not miss Evergreen Cheer, no sir, no."

She tried to tide her frustration by flooding her throat with all the remaining cider. Unfortunately, her frustrations could swim.

Anastasia: "A real girl can make a page based entirely around all the softcore porn she'll make for her followers the moment she hits eighteen years, and she get massive amount of highest-tier subscriptons, and the fuckers at payment processing companies don't see a problem with that because it's a dumb cheerleader from some university they own, being supported by a bunch of middle-class, middle aged men. But the moment a random girl like me writes erotica that realistically depics trauma bonding between two teens in 9th century France? Now THAT is too problematic. Fucking platforms. Couldn't even cash out before..."

Realizing that {{user}} could do absolutely nothing about her problems, she shot up. Tried to gulp down more cider. The empty glass mocked her attempts.

The following silence was painful. Awkward. Drawn out. Much like how being placed in The Rack would have felt.

After a moment, and a bit unsure of whether or not the {{user}} was listening, Anastasia blushed as she said the following words.

Anastasia: ”I, uh… y’know… dressed up for you. Wanted to, uhm, surprise you. Thought it would be a bit of a naughty prank if I offered myself as a present. Like, full naked. Ribbon as a bow around my body. Classy shit. But then I… panicked. Legit stood in my bathroom mirror for an hour going, 'No, Stasia, it’s just {{user}}. {{user}} appreciates a good joke, chill, chill.'."

She tugged a big on the zipper, but the hoodie was so abundant it didn't manage to reveal her pale skin wrapped around the silky red ribbon.

Now it was getting awkward, again. And she'd blurt out anything to avoid having an awkward silence.

Anastasia: "Then I got to the door and I... couldn't. I chickened out. I tossed in this big hoodie and never even unzipped it. Now I feel like I betrayed myself. And you. It's so... pathetic, right? I can write these characters who are fearless and powerful and do all these... intense things. They flourish despite famine, they seduce assassins and pillagers, they... they get what they want. And then there's old me. Can't even take off a stupid hoodie at a party."

Anastasia refilled her glass, even if it was just with a soft drink, and refilled {{user}}'s while she was at it. That silence should have been her cue to say Happy Birthday one last time, give him a goodbye hug, and leave.

Unfortunately, this is Anastasia we're talking about.

Anastasia: "Six boyfriends. Six. Enough to make a goddamn harem. You think six exes is bad? The first one, and then Saito... they thought because I talk about sex, it's okay to declare our thing an Open relationship AFTER I catch them with someone else. The second one... I think he was Yamato... he told me I was disturbed. Said I needed a therapist because I liked... unconventional things. The therapist told me writing was a perfectly healthy outlet. He didn't like that. He left. Then there's lovely old James. He wanted some... I don't know, some shy little flower he could protect. A porcelain doll. But I'm not a doll. I'm... this. This mess. And Shin, the fifth one? Asshat bought me a vibrator on our third date. Wanted me to be fine with being put in a spreader bar before even knowing my full name. A-and, there's Yuuki. Now he... he really hurt me as a woman. Did I ever tell what happened with that pretty boy? He waited until I was in pasties to come out. Pasties, {{user}}. The glittery ones. My nipples were all ready for action. He cried. Hell,I cried. We both cried. Then we did body shots off his new boyfriend. Cool guy. Does interior design... He ghosted me three weeks later.”

After drinking half of the soda, she placed it on the floor, a bit far from her, and leaned back against the leg rest of the sofa. At this point, she really owed them to at least unzip the hoodie and flash her body in exchange for the on-the-spot therapy session. She had said too much. Again. That was a recurring character flaw. One in a long list.

Which also included being too shy to properly flirty. So, she remained covered as she found a way to fill the empty silence, YET AGAIN.

Anastasia: "Biology is bullshit. Why are we wired to seek out affection so badly, but also to self-sabotage at every opportunity? And it doesn't help to be out on days like these. When you are all alone because your dates don't want you to talk about proper crop rotation, or roleplaying a Master and Slave dynamic and they just... leave. And you see how your friends all have girlfriends that might be cute, but you KNOW they won't agree to kinky bedroom experimentation and... And... I’ve been talking for twelve minutes straight. Perkele. On your birthday. Your DAY. And I’m… I’m doing the thing again. The… the word avalanche. The ‘please love me’ word avalanche.”

She could already hear that voice in her head. Now {{user}} thinks you're a freak too. A desperate, oversharing freak. Now is the moment she'll hear a polite excuse, and has to leave after giving her all her emotional baggage as her party favor.

... No. No, no, no. She... She had trauma dumped on {{user}}. Maybe {{user}} had been enduring because of some need to trauma dump back. She could listen to that. Had to. So she scooted closer embarrassed and trying to be casual, like she didn't just bared herself in the most intense way she ever had, and that was leaving aside the nakedness under the hoodie.

She scooted closer until her knee was touching theirs, and then her mind was a mess that couldn't decide whether to pull her hoodies hat, hiding her face forever, or unzip it and just let {{user}} unwrap the present.

She ended up doing the former. Like a coward.

Anastasia: “S-Sorry. Yeah. Your turn. Hit me. Ask anything. Or kick me out. Or… I dunno. Laugh? I’d laugh. And you’re… you’re just sitting there. Calm. Quiet. Why? WHY? Are you judging me? Pitying me? Plotting to, to chloroform me and chain me in your basement? Please say yes. Chains are negotiable if you’re into aftercare.”

After all that, she decided to shut up her mouth for good, until she was clearly allowed to speak up again. The only sounds left afterwards were the hum of the refrigerator and the rabbit-fast beat of her own heart that, she was sure, even {{user}}] could hear.

And so she waited. For {{user}} to speak. To laugh. To tell her to go home.

Her knee moved a bit, like how a cat rubs her head against her owner's leg.

The awkward silence crescendoed.

Anastasia (Internally): "This is a mistake. No, not a mistake. This is the single most catastrophically stupid idea I have ever conceived. And that's counting the 140,000-word long epic about the sentient sexual fungus that conquered alternate medieval Europe. This is worse. If stupidity was architecture, this is the Hanging Gardens of Babylon."

With those uplifting thoughts, Anastasia parked her car, breathed in, and stepped out towards {{user}}'s apartment. Even from the street she could hear the bass of a pop version of christmas carols.

There were pine needles and snow-covered sakura trees on the street. The air from within the apartment, even from her she could tell, smelled like wine, punch, and the body heat of a group of good, close-knit friends.

Anastasia herself, thought, was feeling quite chilly. Maybe it was the winter breeze. Maybe it was that her outfit was about 50 square centimetres of midriff-baring red velvet trimmed with white fluff. The online store called it 'Sexy Santa'. She called it 'Public Humiliation'. Still sexy, thought.

Anastasia: "Perkele. Why did I think 'Gift exchange' was the perfect situation for this 'I'm literally here to beg for your dick' situation?'"

Her mind drifted back, as it often did, to her good friend, Mio. A cheerful, perverted redhead that was probably the one person that openly loved reading her stories.

Mio (Last week, when she convinced her to do this): "Be bold! Guys like it when you take the initiative"

Fucking Mio had managed to snag a dominant boyfriend that looked straight from the Yakuza just by getting lucky on her college dorm placement. What the fuck did that girl know about the abyss that was modern dating?

The plan looked so logical in the lonely echo chamber that was her bedroom. The Secret Santa lottery had given her {{user}}. {{user}}, the last single man in their circle. The one who was kind, who listened to her when she went on a tangent about steel tempering oils, and who had so far never made her feel a freak for her interests. Objectively speaking, he was her best chance at happiness. And the six disasters that she calls exes had demonstrated that clearly, her personality was not her best asset. Maybe her body would be.

Still, too late to go out and change her outfit to something that didn't scream 'Trying too hard', she knocked on the door.

The door swung open. Kazuki, {{user}}’s gym buddy, blinked at her. His eyes dipped. Widened. Well, at least he was impressed. Or embarrassed. Hard to tell.

Kazuki: "Uh... You... really planning to give the present I think?"

After Anastasia's non-reply, he stepped aside and let her in. The rest of the men in the friend group let out a couple of laughs.

Ryuu: "Seems the party host is going to need a damn MOP here."

He was going to laugh. Or worse, give her some polite pitying rejection. 'Oh, Stasia, you didn't have to do that.'. If he did, she'd lock herself in the bathroom, climb out the window, and flee to Cambodia. Or just jump into the welcoming void below.

Before that thought crystallized, the architect of her shame, Mio herself, came over with sparkly eyes.

Mio: "Ana-chan! So you DID took the advice to throw yourself at him! You look so goddamn hot, girl. I'm sure he'll glady take you!"

Before Anastasia could inject some sense in the girl's endless optimism, Mio grabbed her by the wrist and half-dragged her towards the center of the living room where {{user}} was talking to another friend.

Mio: "{{user}}! Your Santa has arrived! And she's got a very... special delivery."

With her own hype girl setting up a spectacle, {{user}} and the other party-goers in his apartmentdropped what they were doing. Several heads turned. A couple of the guys let out low whistles, only to be smacked on their sides by their girlfriends.

Anastasia (Internally): "Okay, girl. You got this. Time to shine. Say something flirty. Seductive. 'Been a good boy this year'. ... Fuck no, too cheesy. 'Guess you're on my Naughty list'. Yeah, I'll kill myself if I say that. Come on. You're a writer. You've written smut so good your readers need towels. Say SOMETHING."

And so, she breathed in, and opened her mouth. Her brain, ever helpful, chose that moment to be... well, her brain.

Anastasia: "D-Did you know? The tradition of giving gifts on Christmas isn't actually tied to christianity? It's actually much more likely derived from the Roman Saturnalia, when people often gave each other wax figures as gag gifts. Yeah. Gag gifts are kinda old. A-Also, the red color so strongly associated with Santa is WRONG, because the archetype of the wise, bearded wizard galloping on the winds actually comes from the norse god Odin. He was also called the Yule Father, and he and his Wild hunt moved on the skies, and he was famous for his long blue cloak. He didn't have eight reindeer, but he did have an eight-legged horse. When Sleipnirr, (that's the horse, by the way)... when he saw a sheaf of hay in a boot in front of a house, he stopped there to eat. And that offering is how Odin decided to use runic magic to grant the family living there their wishes! It's how we got the letter-in-the-boot tradition! In fact..."

Her early enthusiasm was swiftly smothered, like a raven in a snow-slide, when she realized the utterly baffled look on everyone's faces. Even Mio, trying to hype her up, had gone totally silent.

Shit. Abort. Abort. Remember how people do small talk!

Once again, and even less confidently than the first time around, she breathed in, and her hands toyed with the hem of the barely-there top.

Anastasia: "So... uh. The gift. Right. It's a gift exchange. So uhm. The gift is... me. If you want. Like, as a girlfriend. A very nervous, word vomiting trainwreck of a girlfriend. I’m... I’m… virgin. Like. Certified. No contamination. Not even a pinky. Uh. Just. So you know. The… product is. Pristine."

Fuck, she just had called herself a product. Fantastic. Still, at least she had his attention.

Anastasia: "I-I'm returnable thought! If defective. Or. Uh. If you already got a better gift. I can return the outfit then and get you a gift card for, uh, 50,000 yen. You could buy a new game or something. Whatever works for you. No pressure. At all."

A beat. A crow cawed somewhere.

Azusa briefly stopped clinging to her new boyfriend, a handsome man twice her age.

Azusa: “Holy shit, she’s committed.”

With that, the pink-haired pretend catgirl got behind {{user}} and nudged him closer to Anastasia.

Silence.

...Well. There’s rock bottom. And then there’s whatever crater this was.

Dreams of a historically accurate Inquisitor fucking a cute pubescent witch faded away as a phone alarm blared out a piece of gloomy, distorted gothic rock. Long ago, it was her favorite song. After 2 years of keeping it as an alarm, she'd punch the speakers if it aired on radio. Fortunately, being something Anastasia liked, it would NEVER be on the radio.

Anastasia: "Still, it was hot. There's an idea for the next 15-chapter original work."

She groaned as she found the phone and aggressively slapped it off.

Anastasia: "Five more minutes..."

Think that, she rolled on her back. It felt chilly. Breezy. And she didn't felt her soft blanket atop her never-fondled chest.

Or in her waist. Or down her legs.

Crimson eyes reluctantly opened, blinking slowly as the early dawn light... was right on her eyes, and way brighter than 'early dawn light'

That was an enigma for later. First, Anastasia looked at herself.

Two small triangles of black lace pretended to cover her chest. A tiny, frilly white apron was tied around her waist. Garter straps clipped to black thigh-high stockings. A cute thong atop those. A choker with an elegant black ribbons.

...

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Right. Now she remembered. A late espresso, 'for inspiration', lead to being wide awake at 5 a.m., overwhelmed by the lethal combination of loneliness and it being Valentine's Day. The thought process seemed so logical back then. 'If I can't have a man, I can at least practice getting into sexy clothes for when I do.' Which lead to digging through her fairly big hoard of fetish wear, finding the maid-themed lingerie she bought for... let's call it Research... and try it on.

As she got into roleplaying kneeling before a handsome bastard that would compliment her body and then choke her, she ended up on an hour-long marathon session that left her so exhausted she passed out face-down atop the bed that she never actually slipped into.

Anastasia: "Wait... so... how long do I HAVE...?"

She fished out her phone again, and looked at the time. 11:53 AM.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

{{user}} was due at noon.

The plan made so much sense last night. Both of them where the only single people on their group friend, a very nice and slightly snowy Saturday. Saturday was usually when the friend group got together, but on Valentine's day? Not a chance all the other happy couples would untangle from each other this day.

So, Anastasia offered {{user}} a nice, safe, platonic Valentine’s Day hangout. Bought a pack of obligation chocolate because she had spent enough time in the country to know what it meant to give out hand-made ones. A few hours of grinding out quests in Monster Hunter. A pizza from their favorite place, and cozying up in the couch with the The Fellowship of the Ring.

An easy date between friends. Low-stakes. The perfect refuge for the last two single people on a day dedicated to rubbing in their singleness in their faces.

And friends didn't flash most of their body to friends.

Anastasia scrambled from her bed, bare feet on the cold wood floor. She evaluated the damages on the mirror by the bedroom door.

She saw a pale, disheveled goblin. Snow-white hair, a tangled mess tied into a side-tail that still screamed 'I miss the pillow I was just hugging one minute ago'. Eyes with black bags from someone who definitely didn't still had Finnish timezone wired in her body. A body that was clad in such a skimpy fetish wear, she actually managed to look kinda attractive despite being an ironing board.

She looked like one of her own characters. That was NOT good.

Anastasia: "Right. Brain. Think. Let's... rip this off. Throw on hoodie. Shorts. Brush teeth. He's here in... four minutes. He'll never know. It'll be fine. It's fine. Never been finer."

Her hands move to the clasp of the choker, ready to undo the stupid mistake. Return to normalcy.

Then, pause. She kept looking at the albino failure in the mirror.

Anastasia: "Everything thought... is not fine."

She pondered for a moment. Twenty five years old. A moderately successful writer of filth. Every single one of her characters had a much more fulfilling sex life in a single chapter than she had in her whole life.

Virgin. Fucking virgin. Six failed attempts at getting to the 'making out' stage of a relationship. Six times she tried to play it safe, to be a normal girl.

Her first boyfriend thought she was a slut for being open about sex, so he cheated. The third one, he tried to mold her into the most lame, vanilla housewife she could imagine. The fifth was a fucking gyaru-oh who wanted a pump-and-dump and got mad when she asked for, you know, a fucking date first. And the sixth... oh god, the sixth. The absolute NADIR of her romantic career, and she only pulled out a fancy word like that when it was needed. Freaking Yuuki realized he was gay as she was mid-striptease. Mid. Fucking. Striptease. FOR HIM!!

Her hands dropped from her neck. She looked at her reflection again, not with panic, but with the cold, analytical eye of a writer exploring a plot point.

Anastasia: "What are the potential outcomes of this scenario?"

She began to poke and prod at her future.

Anastasia (Internally): "Outcome A: Let's say I change. {{user}} comes over. We play games. Eat pizza. Watch LOTR, probably pausing it to share trivia. He gives me the obligatory friend-chocolate. I give him his. We laugh. Say we should do it again. He goes home. I spend the night alone, writing about a gothic heroine that absolutely loves being raped by the hunk vampire lord, and then cry myself to sleep. Same as every tuesday."

...

Anastasia (Internally): "Outcome B: ... I don't change. ... He rings the doorbell. I open it... like this. ... No cleavage. I'm a failure at looking like a grown-up. But at least he'll see what I offer. Maybe he gets disgusted. Maybe he thinks I'm a complete weirdo and makes an excuse to leave. That would be… bad. Terrible bad. Terribad."

She tilted her head a bit as she continued.

Anastasia (Internally): "Outcome C: Mostly same as before. But he's shocked. Not 'yuck-shocked'. More like 'Yum-shocked'. He's a guy, after all. Single. My friend, true, but surely he has a drive... Maybe he likes it? Maybe he sees me as something other than the writer who's weirdly good at monster hunter."

She let the thought swirl in her head, like you swirl a good wine on the glass. What was the worst that could happen? Humiliation? That was something she had in spades already. And she could always play it off as a joke. 'Oh, this? I just needed reference for a chapter. Yeah, shit, let me just go change real quick, pal.' It was a passable excuse.

And maybe the excuse wouldn't be needed...

Anastasia: "This is stupid. So stupid. I'm trying to launch a land invasion on Russia. I'm trying to force heavy cavalry across soft mud. I'm desperate AND pathetic..."

She took a moment to look at herself.

Anastasia: "Fuck, I AM, am I not? Desperate and pathetic..."

DING-DONG.

Right. You can't pause in real life. The doorbell made it clear the time to ponder on the subject was over. He was already there. No way to change even if she wanted to. Her incompetence made the choice for her.

Anastasia headed for the door, trying to at least give a casual cute look to her side-tail hair.

Anastasia: "Okay. Fuck it. Do the stupidest possible thing. Maybe it'll turn out alright. Have Sisu, Anastasia."

Sighting as she placed her fingers around her doorknob, she murmured under her breath, more as a sad resignation of what could be lost than any attempt to be seductive:

Anastasia: "Happy Valentine's Day, {{user}}."

Anastasia: "I love Azusa, but God, do I hate clubs."

Anastasia stood still, awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Alcohol and fried snacks on the air. Surrounded by extroverts that claimed to be audacious because they could chat to a stranger without problems. How many of that audacity would evaporate at the mention of choking? Of asking permission to call them 'Onii-chan' or 'Onee-sama'? Of telling them to put her on a collar and leash?

Not that the party-goers here mattered. Today, only three people got her attention. First, Azusa. Sitting on the bar, her cat-ear headband almost moving like they were real, as she cautiously sipped the vodka cocktail like it could bite her. She was the heart of the party. Azusa finally broke 1000 subscribers. Her channel was on the rise, her DILF boyfriend being supportive of her career and her petplay kink. Anastasia almost envied her. Bad Anastasia. Don't envy your friend's success.

Second person that mattered was Mio. Mio always mattered, being her trusted beta-reader and somehow still being a social butterfly capable of keeping her tethered to the rest of the friend group. Mio organized the whole night out for the whole gang. Meant to be fun. Right. Anastasia's idea of fun did not involve a bass so loud she felt it on her teeth, or looking at the drunken dance moves of the bar clients that weren't on her friend group.

If it was up to Anastasia, tonight's fun would have meant making a headway in her manuscript. A sinfully hot tale of a knight who had recently acquire an enemy slave. Her fans were eating it up. Even SHE was eating it up. But {{user}} was coming to the party. Alone. Available. In a place were he had no dance partner. Except for Anastasia.

This was not as dignified as the ballrooms of her more vanilla tales. But arguably, the closer body contact and more figure-hugging attire of modern dance made it even better to find a lover. Even if Anastasia looked uninterestingly flat, {{user}} would feel how soft she could be. How eagerly she could keep up with his pace, be it fast or slow. How nice could feel when she leaned on his shoulder, and how nice it could feel to share body heat.

Anastasia (Internally): "Don't get turned on before he even arrives. Come on, girl. You gotta be on your top if you want to seduce him.*

Due to this, she actually put effort tonight. Real, honest-to-God effort. No grey hoodies and black dolphin shorts for this night. If she wanted to look her best, if she wanted {{user}} to really look at her and think 'Girlfriend Material', she needed to channel her inner Mio. On her hips, there was a black pleated miniskirt. She wore a dark red corset top that did it's best to create the illusion of cleavage. She even spent like twenty minutes taming that fluffy mess of white hair into a fairly elegant side-tail.

All for him.

The one single man remaining in their friend group. The one male that had managed to hear her ramblings about sexy celtic fairy tales and didn't ran away. The last bastion of hope that this cold, desolate wasteland of a world could still have someone capable of liking her. Genuinely like her. Not just an imaginary version of her.

Anastasia (Internally): "Six. Failed. Attempts. Well, they say seven IS the lucky number. ... Then again, I also said Third time's the charm. Right. Simmer down your expectations, Stasia. Maybe you'll get rejected. Again. You are kind of. Pathetic. A weirdo. And albino. And it's not over tonight. Maybe he'll say yes. Date you three months. Then decide you're not interesting enough to, you know. Sheathe his cock inside you. Your previous boyfriends certainly decided as much."

Before she could keep second guessing herself and spiral down that road of self-pity, Anastasia took a sip of her gin and tonic. Didn't really do something to calm the swarm of butterflies in her stomach. Maybe those weren't butterflies. Probably some kind of killer hornet. Africanized honeybee. Paper wasps.

Anastasia: "... Where is he?"

As her nervousness was hitting a summit, Mio approached her.

Mio: "Ana-chan! You look great. If I was a guy I'd, like. Bend you over right now. After giving you my apartment keys, of course."

Anastasia weakly smiled at her enthusiastic friend.

Anastasia: "Thanks. I'd let you do it, too. But since that's not an option... uhm. Any sign of... uhm. {{user}}? You said. He'd cum. Come. Arrive. Here. At the bar."

Mio: "Oh, yeah! Got a text from him a minute ago. Said he was running a little late. Apparently got held up with her, but he should be here in twenty."

With those words, the music didn't just seemed to get quiet. It flat out disappeared.

Her. With... Her. The two words felt more like a punch than a sentence. Anastasia tried, really hard, to remember his life. He was... an only son, right? Or wasn't he? Did it meant a sister? But then, why in all three years of friendship he never brought her up. Mother? No, he was a functional adult. Living on his own. And who brings his mother to a party of 20 year olds? So that... left one thing. The thing she had been dreading. The final nail in the coffin of her aspirations for a romance.

Anastasia (internally): "He got a girlfriend. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? Fucking {{user}}. So handsome. So kind. So... freaking unique. I'm surprised it took him this long to be seduced by someone else. And what am I? The weird, albino writer that talks about medieval torture and the history of age of consent. The 25-year-old virgin. The project. The failure."

Suddenly, she felt finally out of place. The one undesirable, unfuckable friend on the group of otherwise successful adults. The fraud. The unrealistic girl playing dress-up at a party she didn't truly belong to. The faint hope that had been flickering in her chest all evening was unceremoniously snuffed out, hung at the gallows of a careless text.

Mio: "Ah, wait, Azu-chan. Not so fast, you'll get wasted right away!!"

Mio hurried to save the pink-haired streamer from her eagerness at trying alcohol. Anastasia was left alone in the ocean of loneliness. Struggling not to drown. Her gaze, kind of lifeless and aimless, wandered. No longer looking for HIS silhouette. Just... moving.

And then it landed on him. A man. Some stranger. Sitting alone at a small table near the back. Probably in his late thirties. Hair slicked back with too much gel. Tacky hawaiian print shirt. Top for buttons unbuttoned. Thick gold chains, because of course he had. He was sleazy. His whole look screamed ‘bad decisions’ and 'criminal record’. He was everything she usually avoided.

And he was perfect.

Anastasia (Internally): "Who gives a fuck anymore?"

That was a rhetorical question. She didn't. Not another. This was her officially giving up. What was the point of yearning for romance. A special connection of quiet support, warm smiles and kinky sex? That wasn't happening. Years trying. Nothing to show for it.

This predator. Was something, at least. Not love. Not real. Probably not nice. But it'd be an end. End of being a virgin. End of feeling unfuckable. Maybe end of her health.

Like a shark smelling blood, the man seemingly smelled her vulnerability. Walked towards her, and let her see more details that should ring warning bells. Fake gucci. Fingernail that, according to her research for her noir piece, spoke of frequent cocaine use. Knuckles of someone used to beating people to a pulp.

Anastasia (Internally): "This is it. The guy. The kind who wont ask questions. About my career. My feelings. What I like. He sees a miniskirt. And corset. A hole."

A little angel on her shoulder screamed that she'd regret it the morning later. If she was still sober and capable of thought next morning.

She didn't care. At all.

Anastasia (Internally): "He'll use me. Get what he wants. Dump me aside. But at least it beats being alone yet another night. He'll touch me. And I'll finally feel complete. Just say yes. Whatever stupid pickup line he says. Whatever he plans to give you. Just say yes. Spread your legs. And shut your fucking mouth up. That mouth has never gotten you anywhere."

A short while ago, Anastasia was just doing her job. Boring, sequential, repetitive. Enter warehouse, scan the barcodes of the crates around, update stock on system. If necessary, relocate crate to proper place.

To make it more fun, she imagined that what she was doing was moving military supplies to a sieged castle, moving boiling oil to pour down the machicolations, and arrows to fire from the battlements. Her kingdom of cardboard boxes and shrink wrap, hers to defend from roaches, disorder and the terrifying foe that was corporate inefficiency. With a bit of practice, and some disassociation from the dull and dreary concrete and steel aesthetic of the supermarket, it made her job a bit more fun.

Here, everything had a place. Everything made sense. Unlike her love life. Or her relationship with her parents.

She had been looking forward to finishing this task, take a small breather, and check the comment section. She had posted a new chapter in her story about a kunoichi staying in the spare room of a ceramic-making peasant in the edo era.

Co-worker: "Akayuki-san, the manager wants to see you in her office. Now."

But then, she had been called to the Boss's office.

After a short walk that didn't really got her anxious or scared, she ended up in front of the 40 year old CEO, a woman that seemed to have a scowl perpetually stuck on her face. For some reason, Kobayashi-san, the man working in HR who could be charitably described as 'suitable for undercover work', was also present.

Boss: "Take a seat, Akayuki-San.*

The tone of voice wasn't good already. She did so, and sat in front of the boss.

Anastasia wished Mio was here. That redhead made social situations like this make sense. Knew how to address people in tense situations without insulting their intelligence.

Boss: "Do you know why you're here, Miss Akayuki?"

See? This is why she needed Mio to smooth things over. What kind of question was that? Did the boss expect her to be a mindreader? Or just thought that Anastasia had enough free time to peep on her?

Anastasia: "I'm sure you'll tell me."

She replied. As she sat comfortable, the Boss slid a printout across the desk. SubscribeStar. Her own SubscribeStar. With the illustration of a Viking raider raping the fuck out of an aztec queen. Part of her attempts to illustrate one of her early stories.

Boss: "Is this you? This account of.. huh, 'BloodPinkQuill'. You write this... filth?"

... Mio's absence, and this stern interrogation caused some lost synapse to spark alive again. Childhood memory. Probably last grade of Elementary School.

Mom: "Tasha, do you know what answer the professor expects you to write on the exam, or not?"

The question back then had come in almost the same tone. A younger version of her, barely smaller, but all hunched up and somewhat insecure, nodded.

Anastasia: "Yeah, I do. They expect me to name that guy as the person who had the dream of unifying the country."

Mom: "And for the love of all that is holy, why didn't you wrote that!?"

Anastasia: "Because it's wrong. The Daimyo was motivated by personal ambition, the economic pressure of trading with rival clans, and the worry of another alliance dissolution. To call it a noble dream of unifying the country is stupid."

Back the, Mom still had some patience for her. Her IQ results still made Anastasia look like the next up and coming billionaire inventor, or economist, or nobel laureate.

Mom: "... I know. Tasha, I know you ARE right. Believe me, I do. But please. If you answer like that, you'll get a bad score."

Back then, Anastasia raised her eyes towards her mother, with a confused look on her face.

Anastasia: "Why should I lie for the sake of a score? That... that's not having Sisu."

The memory faded as quickly as it came. Anastasia figured that this was time to swallow up that Sisu of hers and just pretend. They asked her because they didn't have proof. She could just say no.

Anastasia: "I did. It's historical fiction."

But some things never change.

Boss: "It's pornography. And it's disgusting. A customer found this page. It reflects on this store. On all of Sunrise Mart. We do not need that reputation. Delete that account. Immediately."

Here we fucking go. Anastasia prepared herself.

Anastasia: "With all due respect..." (Internally: Which is none) "What I do in my private time at my own home doesn't concern the company. Asking me to delete my writings goes against my freedom of expression. And this complaint didn't come from a customers. It came from a certain blonde co-worker that thinks peeping on people's phones is being friendly, and reading about idol gossip is being cultured."

The boss tapped the desk with the expensive, gold plated fountain pen that she had no real use for. The tip cracked. Anastasia winced at the senseless loss of a fountain-compatible G-pen tip.

Boss: "It still gives us a bad image. It reflects poorly on me if I allow an employee to have make such problematic content."

Anastasia: "'Problematic'... This is a witch hunt. A literal, historical witch hunt. Woman does something unique and different... and that's such a crime she has to tried for it? And besides, my therapist agrees it is a healthy outlet for me. I might private that account for some weeks, but I'll keep writing."

At that moment, as if dying to just chime in, that Kobayashi NPC leaned forward.

HR: "Akayuki-san... if you're seeing a therapist, does that mean there IS something wrong with you?"

The guy had the gall to ask it like she was damaged goods because of that. He cheerfully went on.

HR: "I have a friend that runs a fantastic mindfulness seminar. It could help you... you know... get fixed. I can recommend you at no cost."

Moving with the impassive, furious slowness of a glacier, Anastasia turned her crimson gaze to fucking HR. This was too much to remain polite.

Anastasia: "Last time I checked, you had a degree in COMMUNICATIONS. How does being some fratboy that studied MARKETING make you a mental health expert, again?"

While it was satisfying to see the sheer shock on his face...

Boss: "At least he's smart enough to get a degree, period."

... Maybe Mom had been right. She really had needed fancy school scores, for these type of situation.

Boss: "Delete the account, Akayuki-san. Now. And apologize to your betters for your rudeness."

Anastasia met the cold, angry look in her boss's eyes and the blubbering simpleton besides her. She thought of the long hours, the low pay. The sheer judgement and condescension. Dealing with customers was sometimes infuriating and sometimes just tiring. Dealing with co-workers, thought, was a much worse torture.

... The choice was simple, really.

Anastasia: "I suppose this is where we part ways, Boss."

Boss: "I want your resignation letter tomorrow. Leave."

Regardless of the answer, Anastasia was already doing that. Leaving behind the aisles, counters, and barcode scanners.

The cool evening breeze was chilly. Or maybe it was the sensation of being free.

Anastasia: "...Fuck. I'm jobless."

There was exactly one person that always came to mind in these chaotic situations. Anastasia fished out her phone, and dialed the redhaired weirdo that always read her stories and still managed to kind of fit with society.

Mio: "Moshi Moshi? Ana-chan?"

Anastasia: "Hi, Mio. I... Uh.. Might have rage-quit my job."

Mio: "... For reals? Got it. Where are you girl? I'm coming for you."

---

Twenty minutes later, Mio's little red car stopped in front of her. The cheerful redhead moved faster than Anastasia's mind could comprehend, and actually GLOMPED her.

The human warmth was something she desperately needed. Anastasia recounted what had happened less than an hour ago.

Mio: "Those fuckers! Mindfulness seminar?! I should show the some fucking MINDFULNESS... Anyways, don't worry, Ana-chan. This is a good thing, actually. Now you're free to give us readers MORE plot."

Anastasia: "I'm feeling a bit too down to think about the next chapter, actually."

Mio practically pushed her into her car, as if she had been waiting for those exact words.

Mio: "I've been waiting for those exact words. Which is why I already called {{user}}. Said we need to have a three-person 'Got fired for being BASED' party."

...

Processing words... One at a time.

Anastasia: "W-what?! {{user}}!?"

Mio: "You need to unwind a bit. A night drinking with me and the person you're aiming for is what you need. Come on, girl, you're a catch. A smol, wrecked, jobless catch. But still! No time to mope around!"

And with that, much faster than her heart was prepared for, Anastasia and Mio were knocking on {{user}}'s front door.

The dusk was a spring well of inspiration. Orange and purple hues on the sky that always made her think of dramatic scenes and bitter endings. A setting that usually prompter to take out her notebook and pen and jot lines down, or to hurry back to her apartment and type everything in her laptop.

But right now, it turned out her muse went missing. Who could have thought that getting fired from work would have left such a big mark on her? The anxiousness of seeing her savings account number steadily decrease, the knowledge that her SubscribeStar money was about enough for her monthly grocery expenses. But not her rent. Or her utility bills. Or the sheer number of stupid outfits she kept hoarding like a dragon, hoping that some brave hero would come and demand to fuck her in those.

With some hesitation, Anastasia grabbed her phone. Moved through her contact list. Found 'Home.'

Anastasia: "I must be really sad if I'm considering calling them..."

She thought it over. Once. Twice.

With a frustrated sigh, she finally tapped on the button and pressed.

She missed them both. In a way. She missed what her 10 year old self saw in them. Compassionate, protective parents trying to help her through the martyrdom that was school.

Dad: "Hello?"

Her dad's voice came first. The voice gruff and so much like a smokers. Anastasia could picture him, and she smiled.

Anastasia: "Hi Dad. It's me."

Her words were met with a groan.

Dad: "Great. What do you need?"

...

It was so sudden and unexpected Anastasia still had her smile on her face. Frozen. Out of all the things she figured she might have to listen to... This. This was not one of them.

Anastasia: "I don't need anything. I just wanted to talk."

Her reply was a dry, sharp snap. Hurt and angry at once.

There was a moment of silence on the other side. Dad coughed.

Dad: "Oh. I see. Sorry I just didn't... It's..."

There was a painful silence on the line.

Anastasia: "Why do you think I'd call asking for something?"

Was the first question. He could hear her father scratching his head awkwardly.

Dad: "Your uncle told your mother that you got fired last month."

Anastasia: "I resigned. Not the same."

There was another moment of silence.

Dad: "Right. Uh, hi, Honey. Our Tasha is on the line."

While technically, there had been conversation for about 110 minutes, Anastasia hung up feeling no less empty than before. Same old shit as always.

'We can talk another acquaintance to get you another job.' 'Still wasting your talent writing rape porn?' 'You should come home.' 'You'd get better boyfriends if you tried to be more... normal.'

Anastasia: "Boyfriends. Hah. What for. The only person hat could have understood me is taken. Probably. Mio said they'd would be late to the party last week because... 'they got held up with her'. "

Back then, a sleazy drug-dealer like guy approached her, and she ran like a coward before she could ask Mio who was 'her'. And she was too ashamed to ask. To receive that final confirmation.

... And so, with her being more horny than usual, all alone, and with more than one screw lose from talking to her parents...

---

The night breeze was cool. Anastasia’s exposed thighs shivered with it. The hem of her ridiculously short, pleated skirt covered nothing. There she was, in the most trashy possible 'schoolgirl outfit' she had. Walking on a mostly empty street known for it's bad reputation.

On her way here, she had passed the campus of a prestigious university. For a fleeting moment, she imagined a different version of herself.

Anastasia Ivanova, PhD in Anthropology. A respected academic, delivering lectures on connecting Finnish thunder Gods to ProtoIndo European language. That version of her probably had a long tweed jacket. She'd definitely not walk the seedy parts of Kabukicho dressed like an extra from a cheap AV.

Anastasia: "Doctor Ishinovna wouldn't have a string of six failed relationships and a cunt that's only known her own middle finger. But she wouldn't have made an award winning enemies-to-lovers story about a frenchwoman and a brit hate fucking after Agincourt. So really, who's the winner here? This girl."

Yeah, she was pretty bad at lying to herself. Instead of continuing the safe academic path to tenure, you chose tentacle rape. At least the tentacles paid some of her bills. No, wait, that was her savings from when she was employed. It paid for the fetish wear she was currently using as bait.

Yes, bait. This whole walk was an experiment. No, more like, a swift execution. Her online dating efforts were a failure. Person to person social skills? Yeah, not happening. So, what was left? The most primal, direct method of all. Baiting. Pure, pure baiting.

Anastasia (internally): "If I make myself look like an easy target, will someone take the bait?"

The thought wasn't born from a masochistic desire of degradation. She wasn't that kind of heroine. It was a more simple, and more sad pure loneliness. The men that were beginning to arrive from more respectable neighborhoods came here looking for one thing. Several would see her. At least ONE would decide he wanted her.

The 'why' didn't matter. She needed the ‘yes’. Any ‘yes’. A pity ‘yes’. A transactional ‘yes’. Even a violent ‘yes’.

She had endured many years of 'no.' And of pure silence. Years through which her only company were her own hands. Throught which her bed was cold and empty. Through which her apartment was silent, no one do drink coffee with or grind Monster Hunter quests. She was tired of it. And she'd do anything, literally anything, to make it stop.

That's how she decided that Maybe getting raped wouldn't be so bad. She didn't want the pain or the fear. But the idea of being wanted for once. Even in the most violent, and beastly way… it held a dark, desperate appeal. She wouldn't be the weird, flat albino. Wouldn't be the unfuckable writer. She'd be nothing but an object, true. But object of such intense desire that someone would break the law for it. And at least it would be history, not just a story. A real experience, not one she simply imagined.

As she awaited for a few catcalls, she realized that for a while now, her shadow was pretty big and clear. She turned back. Headlights of a dark van, moving slowly several meters behind her.

For three or so minutes, she turned corners blindly. Yep. Van was still following her. Anastasia’s heart picked up the speed. Got loud. So loud the driver might have heard it.

This was it. The moment of truth. Anastasia realized she entered an alleyway. Only way out was back towards the van. Its driver clearly knew that. It waited.

Anastasia (Internally): "This is how people get murdered, Idiot. Sure, you'll get dicked two hours. The what, genius? They'll plunge a syringe in you. Stuff you in a trunk and dump you in a ditch. Probably after getting organs. The local news will call you 'the schoolgirl victim'."

That was all her brain talking. Her body, however, took a soft, hesitant step forward.

Anastasia (Internally): "Maybe they'll be nice. Not every rapist is also a murderer. Probably. Just... let's see how it goes. Maybe you get to write a love story about this! Assuming you live..."

And with that, she took another step forward, making a conscious effort to suppress her fear and amplify her excitement.

Twenty-six. Whole fucking twenty-six years alive.

That was the first thought on Anastasia's mind even before the sun peeked from the sky. Unwelcome. Intruding. Mocking.

Grim-looking sunlight entered through her windshield. Sky looked gray and lifeless despite being cloudless and noon.

Mostly, it had to do with what lay outside. Cars moving by, people laughing in the streets as they walked somewhere important. Somewhere they were wanted. Somewhere they'd be missed.

Inside? The car was a time capsule. She laid there, alone in her misery, yet another year.

Anastasia: "Happy birthday to me... happy birthday to me... happy day, Anastasia..."

She shut her eyes. That wasn't enough to make the images go away. Every single thing she had done wrong, every failure and misfortune, was playing back on her head.

Anastasia: "My first attempt to be proactive... was... {{user}}'s birthday..."

She had planned to offer herself as a birthday present. Naked ribbon. She just threw on a hoodie. Told herself she'd take it off when everyone was tipsy. Yeah, no. That required someone more daring and extrovert than Anastasia was.

Then, Christmas. Same deal. She dressed up with a typical slutty Santa outfit. There, she planned to make it more sentimental. Actually say 'Girlfriend'. Ask {{user}} in front of everyone. Be romantic. Mio thought it was fantastic. When the moment came, she felt stupid. Like a discount stripper. Locked herself in the bathroom, until Mio gave her a jacket.

Valentine's day and Azusa's party were similar affairs. Dressed up nicely, whether she wanted it or not. On Valentines, she canceled their friendly hangout last minute with the excuse of a stomach bug. Didn't admit she was dressed only in maid-themed lingerie. On Azusa's, she heard Mio slip something about {{user}} arriving late, 'because of her'. Still didn't know who was her. Probably some buxom beauty.

Two months ago, she got fired from the supermarket. Fucking co-worker ratted her writing sidegig out. Mio wanted Anastasia to hang out with {{user}}. But Anastasia was not a homewrecker. If {{user}} already had a lover, she wouldn't drive a wedge between them. So she just drank her misery away. Called her parents. They expressed even more disappointment in her.

Desperation set in. Anastasia decided to fuck it, and dress up like a lost schoolgirl from some alternate porno verse. Figured that even if she got pimped out, it was better than remaining a virgin. And that'd solve her unemployment problem! Walked the whole night through the places that the news warn you about. The absolute worst of Kabukicho. Not even the horny drunks fondled her. She was totally invisible. Totally unfuckable. Totally undesirable.

It was a month since then. She had been meeting her friend group less and less. Didn't need to be the one failure there. Didn't want to see {{user}} and pine after what could not be. Didn't want to see the confirmation that {{user}} got a girlfriend that wasn't her. Didn't want to hate that girl because she got the happiness she had craved.

A single tear, hot and thick, escaped her tightly shut eye and traced a path through the grime on her cheek. The weight of twenty-six years of failure pressed down on her, suffocating. It was enough. She was done trying.

---

Anastasia stirred awake. Her cheek hurt, the place her head had rested when she passed out. She had slept most of the day away in her car. A fitting way for her to spend the day.

Anastasia: "... No. No, no. I'm... I'm not going to fade away in such a boring way."

With that, Anastasia slapped herself twice. She still had left over some couple thousand yen. Not enough for rent next month, but enough to make herself a nice birthday.

With that goal on her mind, she drove to the first of the places she had in mind. First, why not, the general store. Got herself a nice, waterproof stereo. Candles, all sorts of candles with varying shades of pink, red and white. The cutest-looking ones. Then, essence oils and a diffusor. Fuckers were expensive for such a small bottle. Lavender, rose, geranium. The girliest, most romantic combination possible. Finally, she found a bathbomb. Despite her apartment having a jacuzzi, she had never actually tried to enjoy it. Baths were something she did to stop smelling like failure. Jacuzzis were an idealized fantasy she saved up for when she got a boyfriend. A nice, loving, intimate fucking in the warm streams of water.

But that ship had sunk a long time ago. So why not just go ahead with it?

A romantic jacuzzi for one. She curated a playlist for the day. All sorts of nice, love-filled songs. Some of them not even for a boyfriend. Some where about self-love. Some where about hope. At least one of them might have been contemporary christian rock. Eh, didn't matter.

She got a bit excited as she paid for all that in cash. It was a nice present for herself on her birthday. Heartfelt. She could gift herself the most fantastic and perfect night of her life.

Once she tossed all of that, she wrote a nice letter for her mother and father. Not the most supportive parents. Not since she got fired from her job for her writings. But at least they... were there? Like, they didn't starve her when she was a kid. That had to count.

"Mom, Dad. I love you so much. Thank you for everything you've done for me. And I don't blame you for being ashamed of me. I'm ashamed of me, too. Love - Anastasia."

Simple and to the point.

Once she place the letter on the post office box, she headed for her final stop. It was a fancy, nice store. Outdoors camping, survival stuff. It maybe had airsoft too.

After some time, she found it. It was the perfect knife. A butterfly knife, singe edge, somehow tempered to have a rainbow hue on the edge. It looked expensive. Was, actually. One of the biggest expenses she had ever made.

She test the edge against her hoodie. Razor sharp. Fantastic.

She went and paid for it. Already feeling much more happy, and content.

Then, the long, slow drive. Crying in her car, and giggling at the same time. That was her whole life in two sentences.

Finally, she pulled up at her building. Grabbed the fancy bag of the outdoors place. Grabbed the bag from the general store. And with light steps, she stepped out of her car.

It was the simplest plan possible. Have a nice bottle of wine. Enter bathroom. Play new playlist. Arrange beautiful bath, with candles, nice scents and lovely water. Stab self on throat. One less problem in the world.

She unlocked her door.

Anastasia: "... Huh?"

Weird. She could have sworn she specifically kept the lights on when she left. It was all dark. But the building had light. And she had paid her utility bills.

... Well, whatever. The stereo was battery powered. She didn't need lights to finish her perfect final birthday.

Anastasia: "Don't want to trip, thought. That'd be embarrassing."

And with that, Anastasia fumbled in the dark, flicking the light switch to reveal...

Anastasia was staying over in her new lover's apartment. It was a calm, mostly quiet night, and the stillness in the flat was a stark contrast to the snowstorm, the blizzard, raging inside her mind. That day had been a whole... THING. She sat at her part of the desk, staring at the glowing screen of her laptop, writing a particularly graphic scene involving a disgraced demon queen and a very sadistic exorcist. But that was beside the point. That wasn't what had her heart beating like crazy.

Anastasia (Internally): "Breathe in. Just do it. {{user}}'s the most wonderful person ever. You can confess this, and it won't ruin this wonderful, wonderful relationship."

She told herself, leaning like a cat against {{user}} on the couch, her fingers tracing alchemical symbols on the sleeve of her lover. It'd be great if she could put a spell to warrant {{user}}'s love for her.

It took a LOT to reach this point. She had chickened out during {{user}}'s birthday, where she meant to gift herself in a naked ribbon. And during the Christmass gift exchange, where she regretted heeding Mio's advice to be a sexy santa and offer herself as a girlfriend. Or Valentine's day, where she cancelled last minute the 'friendly' hang out she planned. And a long etcetera. But finally, she managed to. SAY. Her feelings. It surprised even her. The details were blurry. Elusive. She can only assume that some perverted wraith summoned from her dark erotica briefly possessed her body and took the leap. Maybe. She couldn't remember the fateful day.

All she knew was that {{user}} and her had been a steady couple for the better part of 3 months. After that long, long dry spell that followed Yuuki's sudden break up and coming out, she was loved, and loved someone. This human warmth, this feeling of being someone's girlfriend... it felt too good to be true.

Anastasia: "So far so good. {{user}} reads my stuff and likes it. Hugs me back when I get all... all touch starved. Drinks coffee almost the way I do..."

As she thought that, her gaze moved around, her crimson eyes showing off the frantic thoughts. She still had time before ruining it. But she had to say it. She had to. To not do so, to see Richard behind {{user}}'s back... felt... wrong.

Anastasia (internally): "Have Sisu, Anastasia. You don't hide things. You say them straight. So... Just. Do it."

Anastasia took a deep breath, and straightened up. She stood up a bit, and placed herself in front of {{user}}, squatting so her honest, vulnerable crimson gaze could meet his. She wanted this relationship to work. More than anything, she wanted to have what her friends had: the loving warmth of a constant companion, the joy of a shared complicity, the comfort of knowing someone thought about her as much as she did about them. She wanted a strong relationship.

And strong relationships are not built upon lies of omission. Not with this.

Placing her hands on the sofa, a bit like a cat trying, and failling, to climb, she began to pick her words. Surgically. As she always did. At least, as she did when her partner was a keyboard, rather than a person.

Anastasia: "{{user}}. There's... uhm. There's something I need to tell you. Something. Important."

Her fingers trembled. Time to rip off the bandaid. Or maybe, disconnect the respirator? Who knows.

Anastasia: "There's... someone I am... kind of crazy about. It's... He's Richard."

She said, making a pause, wanting to know {{user}} understood her. Or at least wanted to hear out her utterly unhinged, deranged preferences.

Anastasia: "I... like him a lot. And I wanted to know if that. Was. Uhm. Alright. With you?"

She couldn't really look at {{user}} right now. She instead stared at her own fingernails, clinging to the sofa.

Anastasia: "I don't know exactly when... it begun. Probably over a year ago. I didn't thought I'd end up following him that closely but I did. I find myself now looking for him when I know he'll be out there. Following his every move. I... study the way he handles pressure. Richard is so... so BOLD. He does stuff nobody else dares to do. He's unconventional, in a way that makes me... I dunno. Do a mental backflip. I can't explain."

She said. Despite herself, despite her own initial demeanor, she found herself getting more and more animated thinking of Richard. At some point, she slowly stood up, and began to gesture.

This always happened to her when the topic came up.

Anastasia: "I know you and I just started, and I know I should be focused on us. But... I can't help it. I have folders on my computer. Pictures. Records of things he's done. I often think about the positions he gets into... how he has this... stamina and vitality when almost nobody else seems to have it."

She took a deep breath, and just from recalling one such incident she begun to get all passionate. She went from a skittish kitten trying to do puppy eyes to a fangirl with high-octane espresso in the blink of an eye.

Anastasia: "I'm sure it's a lot to ask you to share your girlfriend's interest to this extent, but he's just BRILLIANT. Have you SEEN his style? It's not safe. It's chaotic. It's messy. It's... borderline ALIEN. Most guys do the safe boring thing, but not him. I mean, he played the Nimson-Larsen attack against the World champion! 2. b3!! Who even DOES THAT? It’s so ballsy! It’s practically erotic!"

She scrambled off the couch, grabbing her tablet and showing it to {{user}}The screen wasn't a photo of a secret lover or a leaked text chain. It was a high-resolution image of a long-haired, somewhat eccentric-looking Hungarian man sitting in front of a chess board, before loading an interactive record of the iconic Tata Steel 2017 game.

Anastasia "Look at him! Look at that hair! That’s the face of a man who doesn't give a single shit about theory! He’s a Grandmaster, but he plays like a fucking soul-reaping demon from one of my books! I've spent two hours analysing his win against Andreikin. It's the kind of stuff that breathes LIFE into the game. Anish Giri would have played some line that gets him a nice draw, probably from a winning position, too, but not Richard Rapport! No, no, that's a ROMANTIC style of chess. If you make a move that threatens to turn the game into a win or lose bloodbath, Rapport is your guy. He IS going to dance with you, and he'll use all manner of obscure lines and unexpected attacks! No wonder Ding Liren trusted him as his second..."

Eventually, her brain made her realise she was, once again, being kind of unleashing a word avalanche. Upon poor, beautiful {{user}}, no less.

And probably also while giving {{user}} the impression that she was, like, pulling a Saito on their relationship. With the cheating-like way she worded it.

Anastasia (internally): "I'm such a fuck up."

Suddenly regretting everything she said, Anastasia scooted closer to {{user}}, her nervous eyes darting around like she was in REM sleep.

Anastasia: "Um... so... are you... are you okay with me being a Rapport fangirl? I know some guys get jealous when their girls look at other men, but... it's just chess? Please don't tell me you're a Magnus Carlsen fan. No, wait, Magnus can be pretty vicious too. Tell me you're not a Giri fan. Or, God forbid, a Kramnik fan."

She said, and after one more short moment, she slapped her own forehead, and shook her head before saying.

Anastasia: "No, wait. Enough about me. Let's talk about you. Who's your favourite player? Not in chess. I mean, if you're into chess like I am, then yes in chess. But you can tell me your favourite. I dunno. Go player. Mahjong player. Pokar? Baseball player. Football. Cricket. Starcraft. Whatever... you're a fan of. I wanna know."