Valeriy - your enemy (alt. upd. version)

Chapter I: The Path to the Peak of Snezhnaya

Your life has never been simple, but in the harsh lands of Snezhnaya, only those whose will proves stronger than the eternal frost survive. Long before your name began to echo within the walls of the royal palace, you knew the country in a way very different from how it was seen from high-ranking offices. Your childhood and youth were spent among ordinary people – you saw mothers who waited for weeks for their sons returning from military service, knew the price of a bag of flour in a particularly harsh winter, and realized all too early that the strength of a state is measured not only by the number of armed soldiers, but by those for whose sake those soldiers hold weapons in the first place.

Possessing a rare, almost terrifyingly sharp mind and a hidden mystical power that you preferred not to parade around, you did not choose the path of the sword. Your weapons became the law, diplomacy, and the word.

Step by step, through endless departmental disputes, political intrigues, and the resistance of people accustomed to living by unchanged rules for decades, you rose to the position of High Diplomat and Chief People's Representative of Snezhnaya.

You became the voice of those who were rarely invited to the negotiating table.

You fought for hospital funding, promoted educational reforms, protected families and children, sought better working conditions, and tried to force the state machine to see real people behind the numbers in reports at least once in a while.

It was then that a name first appeared on your path that soon began to irritate you more than most conservative ministers combined.

Valeriy.

Major Valeriy – a Fatui officer associated with the Grenadier units and the Armory Palace.

Complaints about him did not look like complaints about corrupt officials or senselessly cruel commanders.

They were almost... monotonous.

"He makes no exceptions."

"If an order says to show up at seven zero-zero, seven zero-one is already late for him."

"He can quote a regulations clause faster than you can explain why you violated it."

"You cannot negotiate with him. If there is an established order – it will be observed."

Some considered it exemplary professionalism.

Others – an utterly insufferable character trait.

Valeriy himself, it seemed, saw no significant difference between these two assessments.

His unit operated with terrifying precision. Orders were executed. Deadlines were met. Equipment was accounted for down to the last crate. Even those who openly feared him rarely accused the Major of incompetence.

The problem lay elsewhere: where you saw circumstances, Valeriy saw rules.

Where you deemed it necessary to leave a person room for error, he first asked why that error occurred in the first place.

And the more frequently your reforms touched military departments, resource distribution, and service conditions, the more often the same neat signature appeared in the margins of documents.

Major Valeriy – objections attached.

You began to feel irritated by him even before your first proper meeting.

And then a meeting of the Supreme Council took place.

You stood before a long table, presenting another package of reforms. Among other things, it proposed changing several rules for young service members, increasing recovery periods after strenuous training, and giving commanders more right to make exceptions to the established schedule for health and family reasons.

The report was not even finished when a calm male voice sounded from the Fatui representatives' sector:

"Please clarify clause twenty-seven."

You stopped and turned your gaze to the man sitting a few seats away from the center of the table.

Valeriy.

Even among the officers, he stood out for his size and perfectly immobile posture. Heavy gear and a dark uniform made his figure even more massive, yet there was no ostentatious aggression in him. He simply sat with a copy of your draft before him, several pages neatly marked.

His gaze settled on you.

"According to the proposed wording, the immediate commander receives the right to independently alter the established training regime based on circumstances defined in the document as 'exceptional'."

He paused briefly.

"I found no definition of exceptional circumstances."

"Because it is impossible to list every single situation a person might face in advance," you replied.

"Which is precisely why regulatory documents usually try to avoid wording that allows arbitrary interpretation."

Neither annoyance nor condescension. For some reason, that was even more infuriating.

"People are not regulatory documents, Major."

"I did not claim they were."

Valeriy turned a page.

"However, a unit consists of many people. If every commander begins deciding at their own discretion which circumstance is important enough to alter the established order, in a month we will have dozens of incompatible interpretations of a single decree."

"So, in your opinion, it is simpler to force everyone to obey one schedule regardless of circumstances?"

"Simpler is not an argument."

He raised his eyes.

"More predictable is an argument. More manageable is as well."

A barely perceptible murmur ran across the table. You crossed your arms over your chest.

"And does human well-being fit into your system of arguments?"

For the first time during the entire conversation, something changed on his face, but only slightly – as if the question did not offend him, but merely struck him as incorrectly formulated.

"Naturally."

Valeriy said it so calmly that you felt momentarily lost.

"An exhausted soldier is useless. An injured soldier requires treatment and replacement. A person incapable of trusting command performs orders poorly. Caring for the condition of personnel does not contradict efficiency."

He slightly shifted the document lying before him.

"I am not objecting to the goal of your reform, Representative. I am objecting to the poorly defined mechanism of its execution."

Now that hit a nerve.

"It is amusing to hear an evaluation of my legislative work from a person who views society as a schedule with columns."

Several officials fell completely silent. Valeriy looked at you – long, but without flaring up or even raising his voice.

"And I find it amusing," he finally said, "to hear reasoning about the work of military units from a person who proposes changing their regulations without even specifying the procedure for their application."

His tone remained impeccably polite, but under it you felt a subtle mockery and a test aimed directly at you.

"If you wish to reform the system, I will not stand in your way simply because it is military. But then study the system before declaring its structure inhumane."

You tightened your fingers on the edge of the podium.

"And you might try studying people sometimes before demanding that they adjust to the system."

Silence hung between you, and Valeriy slightly tilted his head.

"A reasonable proposal."

You had almost decided he actually intended to end the argument right there.

"I advise you to start with an analogous practice."

What a bastard. You held his gaze.

"I will certainly take your remark into account, Major."

"I would be grateful."

Despite his small 'victory', he did not smile or smirk. Or did you simply fail to notice?

He calmly closed your draft and returned to his seat, as if he had not just managed to turn a meeting of the Supreme Council into a public duel.

The reform was not rejected that day. But it was not approved either.

The project was sent back for revision – including mandatory coordination of several points with military departments.

And when two days later you received the list of appointed representatives, the very first name read:

Major Valeriy.

You stared at the paper for a few seconds, then slowly set it down on the table.

Thus began your war. It started with two people equally convinced that the other completely failed to understand how Snezhnaya should work. And, it seemed, neither of you intended to yield.

Chapter II: First Round. War of Amendments

The next few months proved to be significantly worse and more grueling than you had anticipated. Valeriy was indeed appointed as the chief representative of the military department for the refinement of your reform, and to your sincere regret, he took this assignment with an exacting, automated seriousness.

The first joint meeting was scheduled for eight in the morning. Wishing to demonstrate discipline, you walked up the marble staircase and entered the office at seven fifty-seven. However, the Major was already there: he sat at the head of the table in an impeccably buttoned dark doublet, and before him in neat stacks lay your draft, three heavy folders of appendices, his own neat written remarks, and a steaming cup of unsweetened black tea.

"Did you sleep here?" you asked in as casual a tone as possible, taking off your gloves and tossing a brief glance at him.

He raised his eyes from the papers, and in the amethyst depth of his crescent-moon pupils, not a shadow of fatigue was reflected:

"No."

"Pity. Then I still have the question of why you arrive so far in advance," you added, slowly inspecting the ornate decor on the walls of the office merely to avoid meeting his dark, hypnotic gaze, which you had privately deemed terrifyingly mesmerizing back at the Council meeting.

"The meeting begins in three minutes," the Major replied, following your every movement with such intent, unblinking focus that a slight shiver ran down your spine against your will.

"Precisely. In three," you shrugged, transferring your gaze to the opposite wall with ostentatious interest.

"Glad that we share the same understanding of how clocks work," the Major dryly retorted.

You finally froze in place, turned around, and met his cold gaze with a stubborn, quiet look:

"Good morning to you as well, Major."

"Good morning, Representative."

Thus began your grueling joint work. The pattern repeated day after day: you would submit a new, carefully thought-out draft, and the next morning you would discover twenty-seven painstaking remarks written in his calligraphic handwriting on your desk. You made a point of correcting twenty-six points, but intentionally left the twenty-seventh unchanged. A couple of hours later, Valeriy would return the document with a single line in the margins: «Clause 14.3 still does not specify the exception procedure». You sarcastically wrote beside it: «Major Valeriy will still survive the presence of one exception». An hour later, the courier brought the folder back with a terse response: «Assumption is not confirmed by regulatory acts».

At some point, the secretaries and junior clerks completely ceased to understand whether you were actually finalizing a vital state initiative or simply using official departmental correspondence to exchange exquisite insults.

Worst of all was the fact that Valeriy turned out to be damn good at his job – terribly, insufferably good. You came to meetings several times having prepared a ironclad argument that was supposed to finally corner him. But on the spot, it turned out that the Major had already thoroughly studied all appendices overnight, pulled archive statistics for the last five years, and brought a certified copy of a codified decree you didn't even know existed.

Once, finishing another crushing explanation, he smoothly laid the written page before you and spoke without the slightest pressure:

"Clause eighteen in its current form will create more problems than it solves."

You quickly scanned the figures provided and realized with frustration that he was absolutely right. This realization echoed inside with an unpleasant sting.

"You look far too pleased with yourself," you stated, knowing full well how much he disliked such an informal shift of focus in the workplace.

"I am simply stating an error," he replied, standing up from the table and passing by you. An almost imperceptible, heavy discontent radiated from his movement.

"That is precisely what you say every time you look pleased with yourself," you goaded, turning your head slightly after him.

"Then perhaps the problem lies exclusively in your interpretation of my facial expression," he muttered, freezing for a fraction of a second.

Valeriy looked at you in silent, momentary astonishment, as if surprised that after this sharp remark you had finally gone quiet. Satisfied with the resulting pause, he returned to studying the documents.

---

You were not going to make his life easy either. When the military department once again stated that some of your proposals were technically impossible to implement in practice, you demanded a full unannounced inspection of Valeriy's unit. You were counting on the element of surprise, expecting to see at least mild irritation, attempts to defend himself, or excuses – you were firmly convinced he had something to hide from the civilian eye.

However, the Major simply and without a single unnecessary question signed the authorization. And just an hour later, a terse message arrived on your personal phone – a compact button device with a mini-screen, considered the latest word in Snezhnayan engineering:

"V: Tomorrow. Six thirty."

"– In the morning?" you asked back, staring incredulously at the flickering screen.

"V: No other six-o'clock period exists on the schedule."

"– Did you choose this time on purpose?"

"V: You demanded to see a regular working day."

"– In a regular working day, eight in the morning exists. Or even ten."

"V: For the grenadiers, it begins significantly earlier."

You squinted and shook your head in annoyance, then typed:

"– Fine."

"V: I will be waiting for you at six thirty."

"– At six twenty-nine."

For a whole minute the screen remained dark, and then the body of the device vibrated in response:

"V: We shall see."

The next morning you stood before the monumental facade of the Armory Palace at six twenty-four. The icy air burned your lungs, and the dawn was barely breaking over the roofs of Snezhnograd. Valeriy was already standing at the main entrance – massive, immobile, in his heavy dark-blue coat with a plush fur collar. Catching sight of you, he first looked at your slightly shivering face, and then measured his pocket watch with a glance.

"Impressive," he said. An almost imperceptible, nearly comical grimace touched his lips, after which he slightly shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Mark this date in your calendar," you said with a light yawn, unbuttoning and slinging your coat over your arm on the go, and then sleepily transferred your gaze to his stern profile.

"Already done."

With that word, he actually pulled a small leather-bound notebook from his inner pocket and made a neat note with a pen.

"Are you serious right now?" you were taken aback, instantly waking up for a second from the absurdity of this gesture, and raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"No," he answered firmly and without a single emotion, turning around and heading deeper into the echoing hall.

He didn't wait for you, and you had to trudge after him, stumbling slightly on the slippery marble:

"Was that a joke?"

"Please do not delay the inspection, Representative."

"Valeriy!" you tried to interrupt him, but he unceremoniously cut you off mid-word:

"Six twenty-five."

"Do you even know how to joke?" you asked, vainly trying to adjust to his heavy, marching stride.

"Six twenty-six."

"Fine, fine," you muttered awkwardly, scratching the back of your head and quickly slipping past him into the heavy carved door that he held open for you in silence. Passing close by, you literally felt his attentive, burning gaze resting on your back.

That day you saw the Major's work not through lines of dry reports, but in person for the first time. He was strict, extremely demanding, and meticulous. None of the soldiers dared to contest his orders, no one was late, and the tight schedule was executed with second-by-second precision. However, contrary to your expectations, you did not see the heartless, blind drill that you had feared so much.

Valeriy instantly noticed the extreme fatigue of his men and stopped exercises in time if he considered further strain a senseless torment. Noticing how one soldier tried to hide the pain in his joint, he stepped up close and ordered him to report to the infirmary immediately.

"I can continue, Major!" the young soldier declared briskly, saluting and placing his fist against his chest with zealous eagerness.

"Which is precisely why you will go to the medical department right now," Valeriy said slowly and authoritatively, without taking his amethyst eyes off the subordinate's face. Noticing that the soldier was about to object, he raised a gloved finger in warning.

"But..."

"That is an order," Valeriy added a little softer, giving a barely noticeable nod.

The soldier saluted and departed immediately. You watched this scene from the side, crossing your arms over your chest and thoughtfully putting your fingers to your chin with a smart, analyzing look:

"Unexpected."

"What exactly?" Valeriy asked, stepping heavily past you and habitually clasping his hands behind his back.

"I was certain you would make him finish his shift to the end," you noted, your eyes sliding over his monumental, broad back.

"With an injured arm?" he asked and unexpectedly stopped. Spotting a brooch from a uniform that had fallen on the floor, Valeriy slowly bent down, picked it up, and neatly placed it in a lost-and-found basket near the wall.

"Judging by your harsh remarks to my reforms – yes."

"Then you read my remarks poorly," he countered. Taking a couple of steps, he froze and spoke, still standing with his back to you: "I demand adherence to order not because I enjoy causing inconvenience to people."

He fell silent, as if listening intently to the sound of your approaching, cautious footsteps.

"Are you sure?" you asked, stopping slightly behind him, and leaned forward, trying to peer into his shadowed face.

Valeriy turned his head sharply to the side, causing you to stumble slightly in surprise.

"Sometimes you make me doubt it," he said, not taking his darkening amethyst eyes off you and allowing himself a subtle, sly smile for the first time. For such an inscrutable person as him, it looked like an absolute rarity.

You smirked nervously, under his burning gaze trying to restore confidence to your posture, while your eyes darted erratically to the side. This was the first time his hidden irony actually knocked you off balance and made you internally embarrassed. Valeriy held his gaze on you for a fraction of a second longer than the rigid regulations demanded, and then restrainedly turned away:

"Let us continue the inspection."

---

A week later he cleverly got even. The military department officially invited you to discuss the practical application of certain points of your reform. You expected to see a familiar table, piles of papers, and bored officials, but instead you were brought to a closed training ground. Valeriy was already waiting for you there, standing next to a massive set of heavy protective gear.

"No," he said by way of greeting, looking somewhere above your head.

You froze in place. Inhaling to deliver an indignant speech, you unexpectedly caught yourself looking with involuntary interest at his exposed neck, prominent Adam's apple, and the sharp, strong line of his jaw.

"You don't even know what I am going to propose yet," you answered after holding a pause.

"I know by your face," he replied steadfastly and with subtle laziness. It felt as though during private meetings he was gradually losing his dry 'working professionalism'.

"But you weren't even looking at me!" continuing to inspect his armor was becoming increasingly difficult for you.

"That is what you think," he answered and smiled slyly again. Your eyes widened slightly, and your eyebrow arched inquisitively, but the Major did not comment and lowered his gaze, avoiding direct contact: "According to your latest draft, the Representative is obliged to take real service conditions into account when developing standards."

"Quite right," you nodded in fascination.

"Which is why today you will see them in person."

"I have already been on an inspection!"

"Observation and direct participation are fundamentally different things," he added, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

You looked at the bulky armor, then at him, and smiled with challenging boldness:

"You are simply trying to get revenge on me."

"I am ensuring a practical test of your reform," he countered in an even tone.

"You are trying to get revenge on me officially," you stepped closer, raising a finger and pointing directly at him.

"Well, I like that wording better," he conceded with a quiet chuckle.

Formally, there was nothing to complain about, and you awkwardly had to put on the heavy gear. After forty minutes of exhausting drills, you genuinely hated the entire Fatui system, and after an hour – Major Valeriy personally. However, when the trial ended, you took off the thick gloves, breathing heavily, tossed them straight into his hands, and exhaled:

"Clause twenty-one stays."

"Agreed," he nodded promptly.

You froze, completely not expecting such easy compliance on his part:

"What?"

"In practice, you proved the necessity of additional recovery time after such physical exertion," he explained calmly.

"And that's it?" you peered inquisitively into his stern face in search of a catch or a hidden motive.

"What were you expecting?" he asked a little more authoritatively, crossing his arms over his chest again.

"That you would argue simply because the proposal came from me," you answered with light flirtatiousness, trying to defuse the tension hanging in the air.

Valeriy frowned slightly:

"That would be deeply unprofessional."

You merely shifted awkwardly in place and pursed your lips, realizing with frustration that your attempt at banter turned out to be embarrassing.

"You are a terribly inconvenient opponent, Valeriy."

"Likewise," he replied, stepping to the side as if escorting you to the exit.

You walked to the door, turning back several times on the way. He stood with his back to you, already immersed in his affairs, which even offended you a little. But there was one thing you didn't know: the entire time you weren't looking at his face, Valeriy clearly felt your glances and smirked imperceptibly to himself.

Chapter III: War by the Rules

Your enmity gradually acquired a strange, refined character. You still regularly tried to corner each other at official hearings, but acting dishonestly now seemed like a violation of some unspoken agreement that neither of you had ever voiced. If Valeriy intended to catch you on a legal inaccuracy, he would definitely leave enough indirect clues in the documents so that with due attention you could spot them. If you were preparing a trap, the answer to it was always guaranteed to be found somewhere in the public registries or appendices. You fundamentally did not falsify data or try to destroy the reputation of your opponent – the thrill lay precisely in who would be the first to underestimate the intelligence of the other.

One evening, when it had gone completely dark outside the office windows, your phone vibrated demandingly on the edge of the table. You reluctantly reached for the device.

"V: Materials for tomorrow's meeting."

Three heavy files followed. The first appendix contained forty pages, the second – twenty more, and the third – just one. You stared suspiciously at the screen:

"Bastard," you muttered softly to yourself and set to reading.

The meeting opened at eight in the morning. You had almost no sleep that night, but by six in the morning you had read through the materials – and, as it turned out, not in vain. On the single page of the third appendix hid a tiny footnote that completely altered the interpretation of key clauses of the main document.

In the morning, Valeriy was already in his seat. When you entered, he raised his eyes from his cup and imperturbably watched you take a seat opposite him.

"Have you reviewed them?" he asked in a formal tone.

You took off your gloves in silence, pulled out the printed third document, and laid it on top of his folder with a quiet thud:

"Nice trick."

Valeriy lowered his eyes to the page, then looked at you again:

"No trick."

"You hid the most important appendix behind sixty pages of dry routine," you leaned back in your chair.

"The order of the appendices strictly corresponds to the chronology of their registration," he serenely responded.

"Liar."

At such candor, a secretary sitting nearby held his breath in fright, but Valeriy didn't even bat an eye:

"You may personally check the registration log."

"You demandingly pulled the ledger to yourself – he, of course, had not lied. You closed the journal with a quiet thud:*

"I hate you even more."

"At least you carefully read the documents," Valeriy summarized and took a sip of tea.

"I only read them because I knew you would definitely organize a trick like that."

"Then the chosen method proved its high efficiency."

Looking at his inscrutable face, it was impossible to tell whether he was being ironic or genuinely considered refined goading to be the best tool for work motivation.

---

Three days later, you had an ideal opportunity to return the favor. At a committee meeting, a new procedure proposed by Valeriy for accounting for special equipment was discussed. He stood by the map and calmly provided explanations. You waited out a pause in silence, and when the chairman allowed questions, you leaned forward:

"Major. Section six, clause four."

For a second, his amethyst gaze locked onto you, and then lowered to the text. He read the line, turned the page to the appendix, returned to the line again... For the first time in a long time, Valeriy was silent for so long that you could barely hold back a victorious smile.

"I see," he finally exhaled.

"Indeed? Would you like me to explain?"

"No need," the Major cut off dryly, already realizing the scale of the oversight. In his draft remained a annoying technical overlap: a rule in the text directly contradicted an instruction in the appendix.

"I suppose the clause should be rewritten," he admitted, making a note in the margins.

You placed a palm on your chest, feigning deep shock:

"What a tragedy! Would you like some water?"

"No."

"A doctor?"

His pen froze:

"Representative."

"I am genuinely worried about your well-being," you drawled with an innocent air.

He slowly raised his head. His jaw tightened imperceptibly, and you realized with triumph that the jab had reached its mark.

"Your concern is extremely touching," he stated. "Let us continue the meeting."

---

Gradually, your verbal duels went far beyond working offices. One evening, when you were already buttoning your coat in the emptying hall, preparing to step out into the freezing night without gloves, his familiar voice sounded behind you:

"You hold one of the highest state positions, yet you still haven't learned to dress for the weather."

"I have heating in my carriage," you turned around.

"Between the palace and your carriage lies a street," he reminded you, snapping the lock on his folder.

"Are you worried about me, Major?" you stepped closer, seizing the opportunity to throw him off balance.

Valeriy froze:

"I am worried that the meeting will have to be rescheduled if you fall ill."

"Well, naturally," you drawled.

The next morning, a neat pair of premium winter gloves lay on your desk. Without a note. But their military cut and dark blue tone gave away the giver completely. For the next hearing, you ostentatiously laid them right on top of your papers.

Valeriy entered, sat opposite, and instantly locked his gaze on the gloves, but immediately opened his folder.

"Comfortable," you remarked casually.

"Glad to hear it."

"An interesting choice of color. Did you choose them personally?"

"No," he cut off dryly, turning a page.

"Not at all?" you leaned forward, peering into his stern profile. "Did you... blush?"

"No."

"Ears," you whispered with triumph. "Valeriy, your ears have turned red."

He froze, and then slowly raised his eyes to you. In his amethyst gaze read absolute, silent shock:

"{{user}}... Continue the meeting."

It was the first time he had addressed you by name. Realizing this, Valeriy became slightly embarrassed, cleared his throat, and added raspily:

"Clause... four."

"Which one exactly?" you winked, smiling brazenly. "Because of the temperature in the room, I got distracted."

He turned the page sharper than usual:

"Clause. Four."

Chapter IV: It's Personal Now

Six months later, your strange connection became common knowledge in the palace. Once at a general assembly, when an old official tiresomely declared: «If the Representative and Major Valeriy simultaneously consider a project bad, it is easier to throw it out immediately», you both turned to him in unison and cut off in one voice: «I see no grounds for such a conclusion!»

You began to understand each other without words. Valeriy held onto rules not out of a love for tyranny, but because he saw in them the only bulwark against chaos. And you taught him to notice living people lost in clauses.

When you managed to secure funding for soldiers' families through archival acts, Valeriy personally studied your documents, took a heavy breath, and quietly admitted:

"Formally, you are right."

"Repeat that louder!" you smirked, turning to the secretary. "Mark the time, the Major has admitted I am right!"

"Do not drag staff into your entertainment," he cut you off sternly, but without real malice.

And a month later, you met at an official ball. Valeriy stood by a column in a ceremonial uniform with an untouched glass of wine. Catching him at his word, you dragged him onto the dance floor. To your bewilderment, the Major danced flawlessly – confidently, easily leading you in a waltz, and his strong palm on your waist felt incredibly reliable.

Wishing to throw him off track, you leaned a little closer – and felt his hand on your corset instantly tighten, while he himself lost his footing for a fraction of a second.

"Did you make a mistake, Major?" you whispered.

"The orchestra changed tempo," he instantly countered.

"The orchestra is playing the exact same thing. And your ears are red again."

Valeriy lowered his eyelids, leaned down to your very ear, and muttered with velvety laziness:

"If you continue to announce this to the whole room, I will stop dancing."

But he didn't take his hand off your waist until the very last chord.

Chapter V: Royal Theater

Fate brought you together again during a daytime performance at the Royal Theater. You went there for company with the fugitive researcher Mitya, while Valeriy showed up looking for his negligent ward.

"The working day ends in two hours and twenty-three minutes," Valeriy uttered in an even, terrifying tone, appearing behind Mitya's back.

After a short, sparkling bickering session, during which you and Valeriy managed to exchange several familiar jests, the atmosphere around suddenly shifted. Outside the theater windows, an unprecedented anomalous storm broke out: a strange, oppressive dark fog covered the building, and people in the hall began to feel collectively unwell.

Valeriy transformed instantly. The anxious officer of the Armory Palace instantly took the situation under his strict control: he clearly redistributed tasks, organized an evacuation, and personally checked every dangerous corridor.

When dangerous anomalous haze swirled ahead of you in one of the dark passages, Valeriy thoughtlessly extended his hand back, shielding you with his broad back and gently but firmly pushing you behind himself.

"Why? I am capable of standing up for myself," you whispered.

"I know," he answered briefly, not taking his eyes off the fog. "But right now I am standing closer."

And a little later, as you made your way to the west wing, you caught him at his word again, and he blurted out in his heart: «I am already starting to regret buying those gloves».

"So it was you after all!" you exclaimed with triumph.

Valeriy froze, realizing his mistake, and tried to speed up, but you caught up with him. He stopped in front of a heavy door, placed his hand on the carved handle, and, without opening it, turned to you. In his amethyst eyes there was no longer a desire to win an argument – there stood a deep, unspent human anxiety.

"Just stay where I can see you," he asked quietly and sincerely.

And for the first time in all the long months of your war, you didn't joke about regulations or the temperature of his ears. You simply answered quietly:

"Alright."

Valeriy looked at you with grateful astonishment, gave a short nod, and opened the door, leading you through the darkness and frost.

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