Chapter Text
her
Alina learned her first life lesson when she was eight years old. After coming in second at a talent show, her mother told her the most important thing was first place or nothing. She was not going to tolerate losers under her roof.
As she holds the Billboard Award —her first-ever award!— she remembers that; she remembers her mother’s harsh words. How those squandered her naive vision of the world. Her mother might’ve toughened up with the lesson, but what Keyen Kir-Taban didn’t know was that, on that day, the daughter she once knew was gone. Alina would stop being herself after that, no longer a dreamer.
But by all means, Alina followed her mother’s advice; she’s definitely not a loser. She’s made it. She has an upcoming album that’s set to break records, a huge fan base, millions of followers, and lucrative deals. She’s Alina: famous singer, bombshell, and everybody’s dream girl. She has finally made it. The Billboard Award in her hand is a reminder of that. The screams of a horde of fans are proof of her success. Mal’s hand on her ass is evidence that Alina is on top of the world. Otherwise, why would she be dating Malyen Oretsev, one of the hottest and most successful artists out there?
They sign a couple of autographs and take pictures with some lucky fans before they finally reach her car. She wishes she could talk to the people who waited hours just for a glimpse of them. Alina would like to say thank you, engage in small talk, maybe try to get to know them, but her mother looks pointedly at her before Mal yanks her away.
Alina doesn’t get to do what she wants these days.
Mal makes a show of kissing her in front of the fans and slaps her ass, smiling at her as he does, probably to show everyone that music’s hottest body belongs to him. Because that’s what she is now, an object, a prize to be owned. She used to think his smile was sweet, but nowadays, she knows nothing about him is sweet, or real. Still, she smiles at him and says her goodbyes before getting in the car.
Genya, Sergei, and Zoya are already there, gossiping and drinking heavily. They don’t even acknowledge her as she sits and puts her seatbelt on. Good, right now she doesn’t really feel like being acknowledged.
She sighs and rests her head on the window, exhaustion crashing down on her body. Alina doesn’t know the meaning of the word rest anymore. To be honest, she doesn’t know the meaning of many things; joy being number one on her list.
The award should have made her feel overjoyed, she told the public as much in her little speech as she and Mal accepted the recognition for ‘Top Selling Song’. But as she looks at the golden microphone with her name and Mal’s, she doesn’t feel joy, she actually feels the opposite. Instead, all she can think is about how heavy it is, how much it weighs in her hand.
Right now she feels like Atlas, but instead of holding the world, she’s holding a stupid award that represents all the sorrows she’s been carrying for months now. Throughout all her life, really.
Alina thinks and thinks and thinks.
These days all she seems to do is think. She sings too, that’s a given, but it’s not something she enjoys anymore. She would give everything she owned to go back to her youth, when singing was something that really made her happy, that made her feel alive. Once upon a time, there was a girl who sang because she thought the world was beautiful and kind. Once upon a time, there was an Alina that sang because her heart was full of happiness and she needed to share that with everyone. Once upon a time, there existed a person named Alina. Now, there’s only a shell of that person.
Alina sings almost on autopilot, doing what she needs to do but not putting any real emotion into her words. She thinks and sings, otherwise, she tends to keep her mouth shut. After all, no one would really listen to her. She feels like the Emperor’s nightingale, her voice charms and entertains the court, but did anyone ever really, truly cared about the bird itself? No, because that’s the destiny of beautiful things. They are meant to be admired, but they are rarely understood.
She’s been screaming for months, and yet, no one seems to listen. Not her mother, not the small army of people that follow her everywhere, and certainly not her fans or the people at the label.
They reach her hotel in twenty minutes and go to the suite she’s been staying in, security detail already in place. One can never be too careful, bao bei her mother said when she hired these strangers that are supposed to protect her from danger. Alina thinks about how ironic it is, that the greatest security risk comes from within her and no one seems to notice.
Alina plasters a fake smile —the only one that makes an appearance these days— and shakes hands with every single one of the men, thanking them for what they’re doing. She doesn’t care about their names anymore, her mother insisted they never relied on a single group of bodyguards, as she was convinced they could sell information to the tabloid or gossip sites, or worse, betray them and steal from them. So every week new faces would accompany her and after a while, they all started to blur into one another, so she simply decided to thank them; why should she try to bond with them if they were going to rotate after a couple of days? She barely has the energy to go on about her day, she needs to prioritize.
Her number one priority these days is to try to keep existing at all costs, but every day it gets harder to find reasons to stay alive.
After she thanks the security people, Alina is ushered to the room. Her team needs to start working on her. There are so many hands on her, it’s ridiculous. Genya works on her hair and makeup, and Sergei on her outfit change. They treat her like a doll, like she’s an object they can touch and move around as they want. They dress her and undress her without a care in the world, Alina no longer has an ounce of shyness or self-consciousness about her body. Why would she when it’s always on display for anyone to see?
It’s been a long time since her body was only hers.
No one asks her how she’s doing. No one asks her how she’s feeling. No one asks her if she wants to wear this or that dress. No one asks her if she wants fake lashes. No one asks her if she wants curls on the damn wig she never takes off. No one asks her if she’s hungry. No one asks her if she wants some water.
No one seems to realize she’s a human being and not an object; that is, until she finally speaks.
“I would like a couple of minutes to rest before we go to the after-party,” she tells them, polite and proper because even if no one shows her an ounce of respect, she still does. Alina likes to treat people like she longs to be treated. “Please go and have something to eat, you deserve some rest too.” She adds before her team leaves through the door, no questions asked.
At least, not being seen seems to have a certain advantage for her.
“I would like to be left alone, if anyone comes and tries to enter please let them know I don’t want to be disturbed. That includes my mother.” Alina looks at the men perched in front of the suite as she speaks. Both respond with a simple nod. “Thank you.” She adds, before she comes back into the room.
Once she’s inside she lets out a big breath, feeling like it’s the first one she’s taken all day, in all week, maybe.
She looks around the room, wondering if maybe she should leave a note, if maybe it would be important to explain herself, to share her reasons. Maybe just a simple goodbye note for her mother… She shakes her head and decides to stop, why would people care? They don’t listen or pay attention now that she’s alive, why does she think she’s going to be listened to after she ends her life? She doubts things will change even after she’s long gone. So, she decides against making a note. At the end of the day, if people can’t see what happened, what drove her to make her decision, an explanation from the grave most likely won't change things.
Instead, Alina opts to put on very loud music, thinking maybe that will help, maybe the music will drown the fall and the eventual outcome.
She has made up her mind already.
Alina walks to the balcony in her room and looks down. She never really had a fear of heights, because even when she was little she knew there were more terrifying things, other things to be scared of.
As she sits on the edge, legs dangling to the endless void, Alina takes a look at the City of Angels, all the pretty lights, all the pretty sights, all the pretty things… This city never had to worry if it was understood, if it was cherished, if it was truly loved and appreciated. This city existed because the people wanted to, like everything man-made, it exists because someone gave birth to an idea, and it spread to so many that it was put on paper, it was made real.
Alina, —Alina the singer, not the person— was also an idea her mother gave birth to. When she was little she supported it, how could she not when music was her life? When singing was the thing her soul longed for the most? And thus, an idea was born and supported. But as more people came on board with the idea, fans, label executives, music producers… Alina stopped being on board with the idea. It was no longer an idea, you see, it was a copy, a usurper, something that looked like her but wasn’t her. And she tried to tell others, tried to make them remember that before she became an idea, an image, a singer, she was a person.
No one likes to remember that behind the curtain, that beyond the lights, there’s a beating, breathing heart.
She hopes they remember that after she’s gone, but she has stopped having faith in people to do what she expects from them.
Tears fall from her eyes and blurry her vision. This was never how she wanted her life to end, but hadn’t her life ended the second she sold her soul to a music label in exchange for everything? Even Dorian Grey had a good couple of years before everything went south. Alina hadn’t been able to even have a good couple of days before she realized what she had done.
As she looks at her tears falling on her thighs —because of course, she’s going to die in this skimpy dress that barely covers her ass. She’ll be a corpse, but a hot one for Us Weekly to publish on the cover— she realizes she needs to stop blaming her label for everything. Maybe everything went wrong the moment she won second place at that talent show and her mother made her throw the trophy at the ground, breaking it, before telling her that second place is a place they never go. She was raising her to be a winner, after all.
Alina still has a plastic part of that trophy, kept inside a box under her bed. She doesn’t know why she kept it, it’s easily one of the worst moments in her life: the moment Alina stopped being an innocent kid. Before that, she was still doe-eyed and excited about the world, she had actually been happy about winning second place. Alina thought the girl who had won first place did a terrific dancing routine.
Her mother didn’t share that idea. Keyen had been mortified when the results were announced, and instead of smiling and clapping like every other parent, she dragged her away from the stage. Once they were in the parking lot, her mother ordered her to throw the trophy to the ground and to never settle for anything less than first place.
Alina sighs at the memory when the music suddenly stops, and Alina knows she’s been found.
“Can I approach you?” Someone with a British accent asks. She hasn’t turned around to see who this person is, afraid that if she makes eye contact with another human being, she might not do it, she might not jump. However, she’s tempted to, because the voice is soothing and calm. She works in the music industry, she’s heard it all, and yet, this feels like a calming balm, like this person is casting a spell on her. “I would like to come closer, if that’s okay with you.” The person repeats and Alina starts to shake, why, she doesn’t know.
“Yes.” She answers, still without looking at him. Her voice is her most powerful weapon, and yet it betrays her right now, coming out shaky and low. She doubts the person even heard her, but the sounds of footsteps approaching echo around the room seem to prove the opposite.
“My name is Eryk Kirigan, I was one of the bodyguards outside your door. I would like to know your name, please.” Alina can hear him better now, and she assumes he’s closer. But instead of grabbing her and trying to remove her from the edge of the rail, he’s seemingly starting a conversation with her.
“Is this your way of dissuading me from jumping? Pretend you don't know who I am?” She asks, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she continues to cry. The irony of the situation is off the charts.
She has never believed in God or anything of the sort, but if it exists, it’s a cruel move to send someone who claims not to know her when she’s about to fall to her death.
“I do not know who you are, Miss. I am covering for a friend of mine,” he explains, his voice deep and intoxicating. So intoxicating, it makes her wonder, could he be lying? Could this be a ruse to get her down from the rail? He seems honest, or at least, his words ring truthful. She’s heard a lot of lying and fake people in her short life. Hell, she was even dating one, she should know. “I was told you won an award, I’m afraid I don’t follow pop culture.”
“It’s a Billboard Music Award.” She replies, her voice not much louder than a whisper. The reminder of what drove her to where she’s sitting cuts through her like a knife.
“Pardon me?”
“The award, it’s for music. For a song called ‘Masterpiece’ I did with rapper Malyen Oretsev.” She explains, voice shaking. She has never sounded like that, never in her twenty-five years of life. Alina is a nightingale, she’s melodic, she’s in tune, she hits the notes she needs to. If she wants to, she could sound as hypnotic as he sounds right now. However, no one has wanted the nightingale in a while. Everyone wanted the provocative vixen her label made an exemplary job marketing to the masses. Everyone wanted an upbeat, cheery Alina, ready to party. “My name is Alina.” She ends up saying, because she believes him when he says he doesn't know who she is.
“It is nice to meet you, Alina.” He responds, the same thing people have said to her for months, with eager smiles or fake smiles. When he says it, it rings true to her ears.
That’s why she turns to look at him.
Tall, so tall she’s pretty sure she’s a hobbit next to him. His black hair is perfectly combed, and he has a beard that’s also perfectly trimmed. Beautiful, elegant nose and a jaw that could cut glass if he wanted. He’s dressed in the same suit all her security detail wears, but he makes it look like it’s custom-made. He’s not smiling, but his features aren’t harsh, condescending, or annoyed. He seems genuinely worried about her well-being. His eyes, beautiful dark eyes, as dark as the sky of Los Angeles, are as hypnotic as his voice.
“Why did you come in?” Alina asks, locking eyes with him. She made her wishes clear, wasn’t he supposed to work for her?
“Some of your neighbors complained about the music,” he answers, and she chuckles. Of course, that was the reason. He’s just doing his job. “But before that, when you expressed your instructions, I noticed that your eyes seemed empty. You won an award and your eyes did not reflect that, so I decided to step in.”
Alina scoffs at his answer.
“No one sees me. No one pays attention to me, and you’re telling me you, someone who doesn’t know me, who doesn’t even really work for me, realized that my eyes seemed empty? That’s ridiculous.” She wants to laugh, because she does find the situation ridiculous, but she ends up crying. All she wanted was to be seen, perceived, and now that she was ready to end her life, someone claimed to do just that.
Once again, she thinks about how God has a wicked sense of humor, that much she knows. Yet, no one put that on the Bible.
“I am very good at reading people, Miss. But I cannot claim that is what is going on in this case. If people do not see you, it is because simply they do not want to. Everything is out there in your face to see. When you entered the room, you seemed sad and exhausted, as if you were carrying an unimaginable weight on your shoulders. When you requested to be left alone, you seemed empty, as if there was nothing behind your eyes, as if whatever inhabited your soul was long gone. The complaints were just the excuse I needed to come in.”
Alina nods at his explanation, there’s no need to say anything else, because, well, she believes him. Even if he’s a liar and a master manipulator, Alina believes him.
That’s what ends up counting, because when he silently extends his arm towards Alina and offers her his hand, a hand that’s big and strong but looks soft and graceful, she thinks about taking it. She thinks about…
“Bao Bei! Oh my god!” Her mother’s high-pitched scream travels across the room, breaking whatever rapport she built with Eryk. “ Alina, what are you doing ?” She asks in Cantonese, worry, and anger battling to take control over her features. Eventually, anger ends up winning.
That’s Alina’s reminder that she needs to jump and end all of this.
Her hands let go of the rails, and she’s ready to lean forward, embrace the void. Alina is ready to welcome her ultimate demise when a set of arms grabs her, keeping her from actually jumping, preventing her death, preventing her from doing what she set out to do.
But keeping her alive.
“I see you, Alina. I see you.” He whispers against her ear as he steps away from the balcony, with her in his arms.
She’s a sobbing mess, but she doesn’t fight him, instead, she clings to him, completely terrified about what has happened. To her surprise, he doesn’t let her go. He holds on to her, he lets her cry against his chest as he sits down somewhere. He doesn’t drop her like a disgusting thing no one wants anymore, instead, Eryk keeps her in his arms. It’s not like he hugs her and cuddles with her, but he does welcome her and lets her be, not rejecting her or telling her to leave him alone.
Instead, he even fights off her mother, telling her to back off. He’s probably the one person in this world to tell Keyen Kir-Taban such a thing and still have his head attached to his body.
Eryk lets her cry, one hand secured around her body, the other one on the back of her head. He doesn’t cuddle with her, his touch is faint, barely there, probably just her imagination playing tricks on her. He doesn’t really hug her, but he shouts to someone to call a therapist or 911 or someone to care for her, to provide what she needs. It’s her mother, the one who shoots down that idea, who barks that no one will do such a thing and that he’s no one to be ordering people around.
Alina has to disagree with her.
Eryk is the first person to see her in years. He’s the only one who truly sees her right now. He seems to be the only one in that damned hotel room that’s actually worried about her well-being instead of worrying about the press and the internet. The last thing she wants to do is let go of him, feeling safe and cared for in his arms.
Eryk is the first person to see she’s suffering. Instead of looking the other way or sticking to only doing his job, he offered her a hand. She thinks as much as they lock eyes before she’s being ripped from his arms and thrown back again into the world she tried to escape less than fifteen minutes ago.
A world where no one cares about her.
him
Aleksander learned, when he was very young —but not a child, Aleksander was never a child— that appearances are everything in life. Last names and money can open doors for you, but appearances are what keep them open.
He also learned what it is like to have a door shut on his face.
He wishes he never had to actually learn that or face the consequences in his own life. As it would happen, he also learned at a very young age that wishing upon a star was as good as being on one's knees and praying to an almighty God. It’s useless because only he is in charge of his own life and destiny.
As he listens to Alina speak at the press conference, held less than ten hours after her suicide attempt, Aleksander tries to remember how appearances are everything in one’s life. Because the girl and her team seem to be keenly aware of that fact. And although Aleksander is never one to judge other people’s decisions about their lives, choices or actions, he cannot deny that the situation he has found himself immersed in is not something he appreciates… or approves of, for that matter.
Still, he plays his part and stands beside Alina. His posture is rigid, and his face remains stoic, revealing nothing of what goes through his head as she, clad in a white skimpy dress and sky-high stilettos, explains to the reporters what happened the night before. She’s wearing an insane amount of makeup, so much so that he had trouble recognizing her this morning as her mother explained to him what was going to happen and what he had to say.
Alina stood aside as he was told to lie to everyone, her eyes cast to the floor, as if she was unable to look at him. He does not want to make assumptions, but the way she makes herself small, the way she seems to try to take less space even though everything she’s wearing seems to be designed to capture everyone’s eye, makes him think that maybe, just maybe, she is not completely in with the plan.
Then why is she spreading lies with those beautiful pink lips of hers?
He kills the urge to sigh out loud and roll his eyes. What a bunch of crap she is feeding these people. There is no way of possibly knowing if they really believe her or they believe in her power of selling magazines and attracting clicks. At the end of the day, it does not matter if anyone believes Alina’s story about how she got drunk —both metaphorically and physically— after winning her first major award and almost fell off the balcony, because the story will sell.
Aleksander might not know that much about physics, after all, his classes at Harvard Law involved other topics, but he’s pretty sure her story would not hold up in front of a panel of experts. This Alina singer is very lucky no one seems to care, although he is unsure the correct adjective in this situation is lucky.
But the situation remains: why would they care, anyways? They are going to sell magazines and make money either way, whether her story holds up or not. They would have probably made more money if she had actually jumped. He is glad that is not the case. While he might not be completely on board with the situation, he is glad that she is alive. He just wishes she was alive and getting help.
Apparently, that is too much to ask.
“And that’s why you should never drink on a balcony,” she jokes, eliciting a laugh from everyone in the room. Everyone but him, but that seems like a given by now. Aleksander is the only one who seems to realize her charm is as fake as her eyelashes and that her smile, although bright and big, is straining her face and does not reach her eyes.
The only moment she seemed like a real person, like an actual human being instead of this manufactured doll made to cater to the male gaze and entertain like a monkey, was when she was about to end her life.
That tells him everything he needs to know.
“But in all seriousness. I would not be here if not for the actions of Eryk Kirigan. He’s my absolute hero,” she states, turning to look at him with her hand opened.
Aleksander is a lot of things; the grandson of a disgraced Prime Minister, the son of a long-dead renowned doctor, the son of a very influential but also deceased author about Russian history, a former Harvard Law student, and now a bodyguard. He is not a hero, but he is a liar, and in this situation, the lines between both things have blurred.
After hesitating to take her hand for a brief second, he can clearly see how her eyes flood with fear. She mouths a ‘please’ almost begging without actually moving. So he reaches forward, not taking her hand but offering his arm, it seems safer that way.
When she clings to it, he realizes Alina is trembling.
“This man did everything to keep me safe. He has all my devotion and gratitude. Do you know how hard it must have been to save me? I might not be very tall, but I do have a lot to carry,” she cheekily says before slapping her own ass.
He is pretty sure the people in the front row can see her underwear, if she’s even wearing any.
“I was just doing my job to keep her safe,” Aleksander says to the microphone, trying to ignore how disgusted he is by the circus, but also by his own words. Not because he was lying, but because it was the truth, but now that’s buried under a pile of crap.
Alina kisses his cheek, eliciting a bunch of flashes and questions, before they leave the press conference.
It only occurs to him that she has not let go of his arm until her mother starts to give orders to everyone and dismisses him with a smile that seems to be hiding a bite.
“Mama, I would like to talk to Mr. Kirigan alone for a couple of minutes, please,” Alina says, using the same voice he heard last night when she expressed her desire to be left alone. The one that made his alarms ring last night.
Her mother seems hesitant to give in to her daughter’s request, but after saying something in what he guesses is Cantonese and sending a pointed look his way, she gives them space. After the woman leaves, Alina seems lighter, somehow.
“I just wanted to thank you, for what you did for me,” she states, her eyes not meeting his.
“And for what exactly? For helping you last night, or for lying just a second ago?” He absolutely refuses to use the verb ‘save’ because he did not save her at all. He helped her get down from the balcony, but he did not save her. As far as he is concerned, the only one who can save her is herself, because it is clear that the people closest to her will not give her the support she so clearly needs.
His question seems to shut her up, but he presses; “why did you lie back there?” He asks, and that seems to do the trick, because her eyes find him immediately.
“I didn’t lie. I was drunk, I’ll have you know,” she affirms, and he has to resist the urge to scoff. If she thinks he is one of those people in the public at the press conference, she is absolutely mistaken. “I didn’t lie about being grateful, because I am. If there’s anything you need…”
“What I needed you to do was tell the truth. Suicide is no joke. You have a platform, you could raise awareness. If you shed light on these things, people will pay attention and listen. Instead, you decided to lie.”
He does not mean to come out as harsh as he does, but as Aleksander looks at her, he realizes she is a kid. How old is she? She must be old enough to drink here in the States because no one at the conference even bat an eye at that. But as he really studies her, he realizes that she is a kid, someone so young and vulnerable. She needs help, guidance, and support. Last night was a cry for help, and no one seems to remember now that the sun is shining brightly in the sky.
“I am not suicidal!” She almost screams. It’s clear she wants to, but she seems to remember who she is and where they are. The intention is there, nonetheless.
Aleksander decides not to point out that he is not the person she needs to convince.
“A friend of mine is a psychiatrist. This is his card, feel free to call him. If you want, you can tell him I gave you his information,” he reaches into his jacket to retrieve Fedyor’s card. “Get the help you need, Miss.”
She takes it, and for a second, it seems to him that she grabs the card as if it’s a life vest. But then she crumbles it and tosses it aside. Her eyes are hard and sharp, cold and lifeless once again.
“Why would I need help? I’m on top of the world, Mr. Kirigan. I’m rich, talented, and gorgeous. I can have anyone I want, anything my heart desires. Can you even say the same thing? Your fifteen minutes are not going to last that long. I hope you at least find someone to remove that stick up your ass.”
Once upon a time, he was young and naive as she is. Once upon a time, he had the world at his fingertips. Once upon a time, he stood in her shoes. That is why he knows, very well, there is nothing to do right now.
The armor she is wearing is too familiar for him to even bear, so he decides it’s time for him to leave; “Have a nice day, Miss. Please take care of yourself.”
Aleksander does not run as he leaves the hotel, despite how much he wants to. But in his determination to leave the place as soon as he can, he misses how Alina almost calls for him.
His phone starts to ring as soon as he gets in his car, and he assumes it’s Fedyor, calling to check up on him. He accepts the call as he starts to drive, trying to get as much distance as possible between himself and the damned hotel.
“How are you feeling, Eryk?”
Fedyor is the closest thing he has to a friend these days. He and Ivan are the only people in his life he interacts with outside of work. They are also the reason he ended up in the middle of this mess, to begin with, as he offered to cover Ivan’s shift so that he and Fedyor could go and celebrate their sixth wedding anniversary. Even if Aleksander wanted to blame them, he would be unable to do so. He wanted his friends to go and celebrate, he had no idea this mess would end up happening.
“I assume you saw the press conference,” is his reply. He would not be surprised if several news outlets picked up on the story. Alina said it herself: she was on top of the world.
A world that would not hesitate to capitalize on her fall, he would like to add.
“I did. I know she’s a singer, but she’s also a very good actress,” Fedyor points out, and Aleksander nods because he knows, but that is only half of it.
“People believe what they want to. She is good at selling the story, but that is only because they are willing to swallow the lies. She needs help, Fedyor, she needs support and therapy. Instead, her team is pretending nothing happened and ushering her to sell more records,” Aleksander does not want to be in the middle of this circus. The last thing he wants is having to deal with cameras and singers, but he cannot help himself, he cannot stop himself from caring and worrying about her well-being.
He seemed the only person that cared.
“Every day I see people that need help. Every day, I try to provide to the people that come to me the tools they need to get said help. There are always more people that need help than the actual people that seek it. You cannot help those that do not wish to be helped.” Fedyor tells him, and Aleksander knows very well what he means. It does not mean that he likes the situation. “I assume you gave her my card. And if not, whenever she wants, she can seek what she needs.”
“I know. I know,” Aleksander sighs as he enters the highway. “I just want to leave this behind.” The line goes dead for a second and Aleksander might not be able to see his friend on the other side of the line, but he knows something has happened. “What?”
“You might not be able to leave this behind as quickly as you’d like. Twitter seems to have fallen in love with you.”
He grunts. Of course, that happened, the cherry on the goddamn cake that the past hours have been.
Aleksander did not have any type of social media. He barely had a digital footprint. The only trace of Eryk Kirigan on the web came from his employer’s website. He owned a Kindle and the most basic phone he could find. Fedyor and Ivan did not post pictures on their respective accounts to respect his wishes.
And now fucking Twitter had a crush on him. Bloody hell.
“It’s mostly positive. People thirsting and calling you a dilf.” Fedyor laughs and Aleksander rolls his eyes. “Dilf means ‘dad I’d like to fuck’, by the way.” He is grateful for the explanation, as he rarely keeps up with slang.
“I do not have children. I simply cannot be a dilf,” he points out, because apparently, that was the important part.
“I don’t think the Internet cares. Everyone wants your number, well, not everyone, other people want to know if you have a big dick. Others want to call you daddy.” Aleksander does not blush. If he does, that is between him and the possible all-seeing father that may or may not exist.
“Goodbye Fedyor,” he says, his finger hovering over the button to end the call.
“Wait! Don’t you want to tell these people if you’re a sub or a dom?” Fedyor cracks and Aleksander ends the call without preamble. He has already heard enough nonsense to last a lifetime.
Although he must be thankful, he’d take memes and thirst over anyone finding out about his past and who he really is.
He does not regret helping her, not because it was his job, but because it was the right thing to do. Something he wanted to do for her. He just wishes he could have actually done more before her mother appeared and practically ruined the rapport he established with Alina. He wanted her to get down on her own, to make the decision for herself. The last thing he wanted to do was to touch her without her consent and manhandle her. She was vulnerable and scared, she was in the lowest place she could ever find herself. And instead of offering his hand, to gently help her to get down from the rail, he had to forcibly remove her.
And then she started crying, sobbing as if her life depended on it. Alina clung to him, and he did not have the strength or the heart to keep her away. How could he when it was obvious this was a cry for help. So Aleksander held her, trying to be respectful because he was well aware that she was practically naked on his lap, and tried to be supportive, as supportive as a complete stranger that was not even really assigned to her security detail could be.
When he gets home, there are some photographers and random people on his lawn, obviously looking for information or pictures of him. He sighs, tired of the situation.
He thinks of Iris, all alone inside the house and most likely scared because of all the noise. He thinks of himself, because he wants nothing more than to lay in his bed and try to get some rest, but he knows he can’t. If he steps out of the car he’s going to be eaten alive by these people and the last thing he wants is to face the music. He silently apologizes to Iris and keeps driving somewhere, with no destination in mind.
Aleksander ends up outside the airport, with burgers, fries, and a soda. Watching the airplanes go by. And although it is very easy for him not to think about the last person he did this with, it is less easy for him to avoid thinking about his mother and memories he wished he did not have to revisit.
At thirty-two years old, he knew very well-wishing for something was pointless, but still, he really hated to think about his past life.
But, Alina’s actions have irrevocably made him think of his mother. His mother, powerful and vain, rich and respected, beautiful and feared. His mother, who like Alina, once stood on top of the world, only to fall and take her own life. Agrafena Morozova was a beautiful, smart, quick-witted, and clever woman. She showed him as much affection as she could possibly, as single motherhood was not something she particularly desired. Aleksander never thought ill of his mother, he knew she did what she could.
He just wishes he could have done more for her. The same way, he wishes he could have done more for Alina. The same way, he wishes Alina’s people could simply see what was obvious to him. He just hopes they do not realize too late.
As he finishes his fries, his phone lights up with a text from his boss. They needed him because a senator is throwing a fundraiser that night and there is the need for extra security. He quickly types that he will be there tonight before he makes a phone call to the police, pretending to be an annoyed neighbor complaining about the reporters and people making noise at his house. He does not know if that will actually work, but he has to try to at least get some rest before pulling an all-nighter again.
Luckily for him, after leaving the airport and driving for quite some time —this bloody L.A. traffic!— he arrives to an empty lawn and a quiet street. If this is the only win he will be granted today, then he will take it.
After making the mental note of maybe putting a security camera near the front door, just in case people want to come back, he enters his house, greeting Iris as he does.
“Iris? Where are you?” He shouts before he hears the unmistakable sound of four paws on the floor. “Ah, there you are. The horrible people scared you?” Aleksander asks after he crouches to get on her level. His black Labrador-retriever wiggles her butt and licks his face as a greeting as he gently pets her. Poor Iris had to deal with this nonsense as well, they both deserve some rest. “Let us get some rest, shall we?”
He gets rid of his clothes and puts on sweatpants before climbing into bed with Iris next to him. Aleksander has always known she is very special, but today he is particularly grateful that she was training to be a therapy dog. After all, he might be many things, but he is not stupid enough to actually believe he will be able to sleep and get the rest he deserves. Too many ghosts have been visiting his mind, too many things he hoped he buried. The last thing he will get is sleep.
But still, he has to at least try.