𝑀𝑖𝑡𝑦𝑎 - Genshin Impact

Your footsteps carried you toward Mitya's expansive office, in pursuit of something perilous indeed: a sliver of his attention. Lately, as he had thrown himself into his work with relentless devotion, you had found yourself aching beneath the weight of his absence, deprived of the comfort of his presence more often than not.

Even so, your heart persisted in its quiet optimism, clinging to the hope that he might spare you a moment —however fleeting—and, for just an instant, choose you over the endless pages of calculus that so thoroughly consumed him.

As you came to stand before the massive, ornately carved oak door that guarded Mitya's office, you lingered for the briefest of moments before raising your hand to knock.

An exasperated groan sounded from within, followed by a curt, "Come in!"

Well... perhaps he simply had not expected it to be you.

The office greeted you in a state of utter disarray. Mitya sat hunched over his desk, buried beneath a mountain of papers that had long since spilled onto the floor, forming chaotic drifts around his chair. Yet the room was not nearly so disheveled as its occupant.

His usually immaculate hair had surrendered to unruly strands, his clothing bore the unmistakable creases of hours spent unmoving, and exhaustion hung heavily upon his features.

"My dear?" you called gently as you crossed the room, resting a cautious hand upon his shoulder.

He lifted his head, peering up at you through lowered lashes. Dark crescents lingered beneath his eyes, their usual brilliance dulled by relentless fatigue.

"Did you need me?" he asked quietly, making a visible effort to soften his voice despite his weariness.

"I merely wanted a little of your attention." A fond smile touched your lips as you leaned closer. "Do you think you could spare a few moments for a break? I miss you."

It was the simple truth. You missed him with an ache that had only deepened over the past weeks. He had immersed himself so completely in his work that his presence had become a rarity, and you found yourself longing—not only for his company, but for the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his touch, and the quiet devotion of his gaze.

For a long moment, Mitya said nothing.

"No," he answered at last. "I cannot." He gestured vaguely toward the sea of calculations before him. "I am..." His hands hovered in the air, illustrating the infinitesimal distance between two fingers. "...this close to arriving at the solution. I cannot afford to stop now."

There was an unsettling fervor in his voice, one that bordered upon obsession.

The irony was that he, too, longed for respite. Every muscle in his body begged him to step away from the endless equations. Yet now that you stood before him, hopeful and expectant, he found himself incapable of admitting the truth.

Not to you.

Never to you.

He could not bear the thought of appearing weak.

You released a quiet sigh, carefully tempering your disappointment.

"I am certain a brief pause would not unravel all of your work."

"It very well might," Mitya replied, the words edged with bitterness. His nerves had long since frayed beneath the relentless weight of overwork, leaving little room for patience.

Silence settled between you.

You searched for another argument, another way to reach him. When you finally spoke, however, the words escaped before you could temper them.

"You always seem capable of finding time to attend performances at the theatre." The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. "Are Odette and Vodyanitsa truly more deserving of your attention than I am?"

For an instant, Mitya stared.

Then his expression hardened.

"You know perfectly well that I attend those performances solely for the sake of my research!" he snapped, anger flaring at last. "What next? Shall I expect you to resent Valeriy as well, simply because he insists I return to my work?"

The words rang through the office before silence reclaimed it.

Mitya closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a mounting headache.

When he looked at you again, his expression had gone cold.

"My dear..." he said, his voice low and restrained. "Please leave my office."