Chapter Text
“This is—unexpected.”
From behind the big mahogany desk, old chief Oleg pushes back the thick glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, blinking his surprise away as he lets Sampo’s words slip in.
Admittedly, the boss has a pretty good point, his decision to leave came out of nowhere and it's clear as day Oleg didn't see it coming. But hey, Sampo Koski is a man full of surprises, wouldn't you say?
Despite his best intentions to play it cool, however, a traitorous pang of uneasiness crawls in his chest as soon as honest hazel eyes search his own, so intense they seem to dissect him to his very core. Alas, as shameless as Sampo may be, not even him is immune to the sharp gaze able to pin the boldest fellas in place.
It’s not disappointment what he sees painted on the old man's face though, but rather something akin to concern… Which is much, much worse in his book. Come on, chief, anything but that! He’s already having a hard time keeping himself together as it is, thank you very much.
“Look, Koski, how long have I known you, eight years?” Oleg muses with a calm yet firm tone, almost as if he’s talking to a wounded animal. “Allow me to be blunt. Whatever problems you're running away from, they'll follow you. That's not how you fix it.”
Sampo lets out a strangled chuckle, dragging his hand through unruly dark-blue locks in a nervous attempt to steady himself. The damn geezer and his eerie intuition.
“You’ve got it all wrong, chief! What would Sampo Koski even run away from? I'm just trying to expand my horizons, y'know? Meet new challenges? Nothing too dramatic.” He feigns the overconfidence of a seasoned car seller as he sells his lies, a desperate attempt to shield what’s left of his dignity, the pitch in his voice a bit too high for his liking. It makes him positively cringe.
It is bullshit. Sampo knows. Oleg knows. They both know. It cannot be helped. As much as Sampo has grown attached to the Wildfire Company during the time he spent honing his skills as a graphic designer, as much as he loves Belobog with her warm people and freezing winters, he just can't bear to stay there any longer.
He is not strong enough for it.
Needless to say, his charade did not impress the old man one bit. Well, sure, it's not like Sampo's look is exactly helping his cause that morning—with ugly bags not even the concealer could hide making his jade-green eyes look haunted, hair disheveled not quite in a stylish way. From an outsider's perspective, it must look like he got ran over by a tank.
...Which is not too far from the truth, in actuality.
The mask of laid-back confidence he learned to wear so effortlessly over the years is slipping right off his face no matter how hard he tries to cling to it and he hates it. He hates it.
The chief sighs with resignation. “I’m not gonna force you to stay. In the end, the choice is yours, if that's what you really want.” He acknowledges, choosing to not call out Sampo's blatant string of excuses. Something he is grateful for.
Then, unexpectedly enough, Oleg’s thin lips curl up into a small smile. “Just so you know, if you ever get too nostalgic, you'll always be welcome here, kid.”
The lump Sampo feels in his throat is a tad bit too hard to swallow. He lets out a soft, shaky exhale, forcing back the tears that threaten to come out. No way he’s gonna cry like a baby in front of the man who taught him the trade, what a pathetic sight would it be? One should always leave the scene with grace, wouldn't you agree?
Once he is sure his voice is steady enough, Sampo forces himself to play the usual jester role. “Hey, now. Don't tell me you're gonna miss lil ol’ me that much.” he teases, playful lilt tone and all, a plastered smile on his face that doesn't reach the eyes.
Ah yes, the good old making a clown out of himself as a defense mechanism. A classic.
“I mean, sure.” Oleg deadpans. Then his look softens. “Who’s gonna steal these stupid candies from my desk from now on?”
They look at each other for a bit, before bursting into laughter. A genuine laughter.
It is kind of strange, the bittersweet combination of fondness and sadness that always comes with a goodbye. Perhaps he’s getting sentimental with age, but Sampo already knows he is going to miss the vintage offices that smell of strict deadlines and cheap vending coffee. He’s gonna miss chief Oleg scolding him for the tiniest mishaps—not that those happened often, mind you. Or rookie Caelus and Luka goofing around at the most inopportune moments. Even dear feisty Seele choosing him as her designated punching bag. Hell, he’s gonna miss even those stupid, tooth-rotting strawberry toffees he’s been snatching from the chief's office just because Gepard is fond of—
Ah. …Right.
Just like that, any trace of warmth within him fades as fast as it rose, replaced by bone chilling cold. Cold as Gepard’s icy eyes, sharp and cruel as his words and lethal as the contempt they carried. No matter how much Sampo tries not to think about that night, no matter how hard he tries to suppress those painful memories, they always resurface twice as strong, knocking the wind out of him like a punch in the guts.
Ironic, for someone like Sampo who always bragged about his supposed talent to read people's hearts, it turned out he couldn't be more wrong when it comes to Gepard Landau. In the end, he fell victim to his own hubris, he was dumb enough to assume that after two years spent losing sleep together over busy projects, Gepard saw him as more than a simple coworker, that they were friends…
...That maybe, just maybe, Sampo had a tiny chance with him and his feelings could be requited, not just the product of naive fantasies.
He has no one else to blame but himself, really. To think someone brilliant and upstanding as Gepard would ever see him as worthy of being called a friend, let alone…well, that's what he gets for wishful thinking. Ultimately, it was the blond Landau himself to shatter his little ridiculous bubble with the harsh truth. He made it all too clear there is no room for Sampo’s bullshit in his life, all this time Gepard has merely been kind and polite for the sake of the job, he's been tolerating him at best.
“...ski? Hey, Sampo, are you still there?”
“Huh?”
Oleg’s voice startles him out of his spiralling thoughts. Sampo's eyes widen in question before his brain catches up with reality, the tips of his ears starting to feel warm with embarrassment.
“...Yeah. Yes, of course. Sorry, I was just—” the younger man clears his throat, glancing away mortified. Ugh, so out of character for him. “Nevermind. So, where were we? Oh, right.”
Forcing the haunting memory of a furious Gepard in the back of his mind, Sampo makes the big effort to enter professional mode once more, handing the letter of resignation to his now official former boss. The concern shown on Oleg's face only grows bigger.
“Alright, this ain't me kicking you out or anything, but you don't need to keep coming here for the next couple weeks.” the chief announces with a businesslike tone. “I’m sure you'll be busy enough with the move, take it easy.”
Awesome. Does Sampo really look so pitiful? Don't give him the special treatment, it’s humiliating! He suppresses the urge to let out a dejected groan.
“Wait a sec, old man, I thought—”
“We’ve got no major projects to work on right now,” Oleg interrupts him, waving his hand in dismissal. “The team can handle things just fine. Besides, they gotta get used not to having you around, don't they?”
This is when reality kicks in for Sampo. He is really not going to see these people for a very long time, maybe forever. The very same people he spent most of his days with for years. In spite of everything, a strange sense of hollowness accompanies that thought.
Are they even going to miss him?
He forces back a humorless snort. Aeons above, he’s pathetic. They all are probably going to be relieved, glad even, if the wariness still displayed towards him is anything to go by. Matter of fact, everyone will be better off without him. And it’s not like Sampo has a better choice anyway. He has to leave, for his own peace of mind. There is no turning back, once Sampo Koski makes up his mind, it is final.
Ignoring the heaviness in his chest, he walks out of the chief's office and towards his fuzzy future.
Eventually, he agreed to Oleg’s offer to skip the notice period and quit the job right away. It would be hypocritical of Sampo to not admit he felt a sense of relief, the last thing he needs is to have to coexist in the same proximity with fucking Gepard Landau any longer. Yeah, he better focus on signing his awesomely lucrative new contract with the ChrysosVerse Corp and move on, he tells himself, walking absentmindedly down the narrow corridors and towards the elevators. He doesn't even need to make any detour to his old desk, for he has no personal stuff to retrieve, nothing really worth retrieving, at least—he will survive the loss of a few pencils and a keychain shaped like a chonky blue bat1 he once bought because Gepard jokingly said it looked like him…
...Oh gosh, he's doing it again. Why do all of his thoughts have to always circle back to Gepard? Will he ever be free?
Whatever, he can just waltz out of the place unbothered, little to no risk to make unpleasant encounters. Easy peasy.
The universe seems to have other plans, though.
The sound of an all too familiar chuckle strikes him like a thunderbolt, glueing him in place.
From behind a glass door, there he is, the very guy Sampo has been losing sleep over for the past three days, as well as having him live rent-free in his head for two entire years: Gepard is standing in the middle of the meeting room, broad back turned to him from that angle, blond curls haloing in the pale neon light, chatting with Luka and Caelus about light trivialities that come as muffled noises to his ears. Sampo has to curl his hands into fists to stop the shaking. He hasn't seen or heard from Gepard since the night they fought, not a single text, not one attempt made to reach out to Sampo, if he ever needed further proof the guy doesn't care. Truth be told, he’s been avoiding Gepard too, but what else is he supposed to do? It was not him the one yelling at Gepard to keep his fucking distance and not interfere with his life ever again. And right when Sampo found the guts to make his move and ask him out! Talk about bad timing. Thankfully, he didn't get the chance to go all the way with his plans and embarrass himself in the process, at least he was spared the humiliation.
Not everyone can say they got their heart shattered and tossed in the trash on Valentine's Day out of all the days available, that should count as some sort of big achievement, right?
And now, as if summoned from one of his many dreams turned nightmares, there Gepard Landau is, with his gentle smile and unfairly cute face, being his oh-so lovely self to anyone, anyone but Sampo. Almost as if to mock his pain. Crazy how the sight that used to bring him so much joy makes him feel miserable all of a sudden.
To make things worse, the cheerful Luka notices Sampo and gives him a wave. He wishes the ground split open to swallow him whole.
Tense as a coiled spring, Sampo waves back half-heartedly, an awkward excuse of a smile stretching on his lips. Pure panic spreads in his guts when he realizes Gepard is about to turn and see him too.
His heart starts racing, almost as if it wanted to jump out of his ribcage. Not from excitement, nope. More like dread. To see Gepard's smile vanish at the sight of him, to have his piercing blue eyes on him again, so full of disdain…
He can't do this.
Sampo turns on his heels and beats it, already gone well before the two of them can make eye contact.
Yeah, old Oleg definitely made the right call, the sooner he puts some physical distance between him and that aeons-damned place, the better. He storms out of the building as soon as the clanky elevator reaches the ground floor, ignoring the perplexed looks thrown his way, striding past random people and towards the sliding doors of the exit like the devil is chasing him.
Sampo can't pinpoint the exact moment his frantic retreat begins to slow down, aimlessly wandering through narrow streets packed with small shops and cafes he barely acknowledges the existence of from his peripheral vision. He welcomes the chilly morning air slapping his face, taking a few deep breaths in the attempt to calm down. Shaking, not sure if it's because of the cold February breeze or the cold inside—maybe both—he reaches for the half-empty pack of cigarettes buried in the pocket of his maroon coat, pulling one out. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth, lighting it up with jittery movements and taking a long drag. The smoke exhaled blurs with his cloudy puffs of breath, easing some of the tension from his shoulders. It's snowing again, white flakes are twirling all around in a soft, silent dance, sticking to his hair, his scarf, his clothes, but Sampo doesn't care. Wrapping his arms around himself, he starts pacing back and forth on the damp cobblestone sidewalk.
It's time to move on. He doesn't belong in Belobog, never has, no matter how much he had wished to fit in. At the end of the day, he is still a foreigner with no roots and the city as a whole almost seems to reject his very existence. In that place, just like in Gepard's life, there has never been room for Sampo Koski.
How curious, he thinks with bitter irony, snowfalls have always been silent spectators of his worst days, as far as he recalls, and today is no exception. If he only closes his eyes a little longer, he can almost breath in the strong smell of gasoline that stung his nostrils on a cold, cold night of several years ago, distant white noises muffled by unceasing snow while a small child wrapped his tiny arms around his own trembling body and waited, waited, waited…
“Sampo?”
He is sucked back to the present. Turning around sharply, the cigarette falls off his parted lips, landing on the soft whiteness already coating the streets. He must look clumsy enough for the gracious, dark-haired woman before him to let out a small chuckle. Snowflakes are no longer gathering on his frame and he realizes there's an umbrella shielding his head from its quiet falling.
“Playing hooky today? Should I call Oleg?” she jokes with faux reproach.
“...Nat,”
It's quiet, warm and intimate inside the small cafe where Natasha nearly dragged him to. The place is not particularly busy at that hour, except for a few tourists sitting here and there savouring their plates of Belobogian sweets, a group of college students laughing and chatting in a secluded corner and an elegant old lady sat near the window sipping her cappuccino in blissful solitude.
Sampo and Natasha are sitting on a round table adjacent to the fancy lady, two cups of steaming drinks placed in front of them, hot chocolate for the charming, iron-willed doctor and black coffee for him. The silence between them stretches a bit longer than usual, which is odd enough for those who know how much of a chatterbox Sampo usually is. It isn't exactly uncomfortable, though, but rather tense. Sampo feels all the weight of her purple stare, intense with a sharpness that never fails to make him nervous, the type that seems to pierce through his soul with almost surgical precision. He doesn't like the feeling one bit.
“Okay, spill the beans.” Natasha blurts at some point, casual and frank. “What's going on with you?”
Of course she would ask that. Direct and unsparing as ever, would he expect any different?
He's not in the mood for any questioning, though. Sampo wears his well practiced smile, confident and easy-going, yet detached. The type he would reserve for tough customers. “My, my, doc! Trying to diagnose me already? Talk about professional bias.”
“It’s less of a diagnosis, and more of an observation, for those who have eyes to see.” the woman replies with a light shrug, unfazed. “You look horrible.”
“Ouch—” One hand flings to his chest in a dramatic fashion, feigning offence. “You wound me, my old friend. I'll have you know that Sampo Koski’s ‘horrible’ is very popular among guys, gals and nonbinary pals.”
“Worst attempt at deflecting I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not deflecting.” he denies, defensive. His tone, however, sounds like that of a petulant child even to his own ears.
Natasha’s smile is knowing and playful in a particular way that's only hers. She takes a small sip from her cup. “You very much are.”
Sampo huffs, defeated. He slouches forward with a pout, glaring down at his still untouched coffee like it personally offended him. “Alright, fine. Today might not be my fanciest day. It happens to the best of us, doesn’t it?”
It hasn’t been his fanciest day in a while, to be honest. But honesty and Sampo Koski rarely get along, so he keeps quiet. No need to disclose unnecessary info.
This time, Natasha’s smile softens.“Wanna talk about it?”
Sampo’s face shifts into something quieter, sadder, more vulnerable. “...Not really.”
The doctor gives him a contemplative look, but doesn’t push the topic any further. Sampo, internally, can’t thank her enough.
“The children have been asking about you, lately.” she eventually says, changing the subject. “Especially little Hook. You haven’t shown up in a while.”
A pang of guilt stings its way through his heart. How could he forget? He was supposed to go and visit the little kids last afternoon…
Natasha is not only a great doctor, she's also the director of the local orphanage where Sampo has been volunteering during his days off. Call him biased, but he always had a soft spot for little orphans. And now he let them down too—so much for the ever reliable Sampo Koski.
“Oh man, sorry doc. It totally slipped my mind.” he apologizes, sincere. “I've been very busy these days, you see…”
It is not a lie, it's not the whole truth either. He's been, in fact, busy wallowing in self-pity after having his life turned upside down.
“That’s alright,” Natasha replies, not looking upset in the slightest. “You can make up for it next week. Serval and her band will stage a little concert for the kids, you can't miss it.”
At Serval's mention, Sampo's already gloomy mood plummets. He tries to smile the discomfort away but the grimace that comes out betrays his true feelings.
It's thanks to Natasha that he got to meet Serval, a famous local singer and Nat's girlfriend… As well as Gepard's sister. And it's thanks to Serval that, later on, he got to meet her little brother. It's been barely two years, but it feels like it happened ages ago. Anyway, aside from the whole Landau fiasco, he is about to disappoint Nat and the children again…
“Uh, I’m afraid I won't be able to come next week. Or the week after that.” Sampo reveals quietly, almost in a whisper, stirring his coffee that is lukewarm at that point.
Confusion and a bit of concern colors Natasha's face. “What do you mean?”
“I’m moving to Okhema.”
Silence. It stretches for a few instants, heavy. Natasha blinks, eyes slightly widened.
This time it's Sampo to break the spell. As if any trace of discomfort suddenly left his body, his seasoned businessman smile is back on display. He leans back in his seat, legs crossed, showing a confident, nonchalant attitude that clashes with his inner chaos.
“Would you look at that~” he sing-songs, “Guess who got offered a top-tier job by one of the biggest gaming companies out there. Yours truly is about to become awfully rich!”
Natasha still looks incredulous, parted lips shaped in a little ‘o.’ It's almost as if Sampo announced something deemed out of the realm of possibilities.
“Caught you by surprise, didn't I?” he winks.
Natasha's stiff posture relaxes, her lips curl up into an uncertain smile. “Yeah, I… I guess you can say that.” she admits, “Well, congratulations. That’s great news.”
There is something in her cheery tone that sounds slightly off, even though Sampo can't quite tell what it is.
“So, when are you leaving?”
He gives a little shrug. “Probably in a couple days, three at most, it depends on which flight I get to book first. Don't have much stuff to pack anyway.”
That's right, he's got not much to take with him. Just some books, his beloved and cherished tablets and tech, a few knick-knacs he collected here and there and, well, a good amount of quite expensive fancy clothes. He might or might not be a little vain, so what? He's Mr Tall, Blue and Handsome for a reason.
Dealing with furniture is not a problem either, since he's been living in a small rented flat for the past eight years. Belobog might be his longest stop so far—he’s always had the soul of a traveler—but as the saying goes, all good things come to an end.
“And you weren't planning on telling me, had we not met today. Right?”
Sampo deflates, any trace of smugness melting away like snow in the sun. There dear doc Natasha goes, seeing right through him like he was made of glass. She has no qualms about calling out his cowardice.
Nat isn't mad, though. Disappointed, maybe, just like he expected she would be. Perhaps even a bit… Sad?
Nah, that's ridiculous. Why would she? It's not like they're close friends, they've just been doing each other small favors throughout the years. Their relationship can be classified as business-like, if anything.
Yeah, that's what logic suggests. Even so, the heaviness in his chest refuses to go away, contrary to any logic.
Frowning, Sampo exhales softly. “Don’t take it to heart, Nat. It's just that I hate goodbyes…” he admits reluctantly, not even trying to deny her claim. “Besides, everything happened so fast I've yet to fully process it.”
Natasha's look shifts into something more sympathetic. “So you're not going to tell anyone at all?”
It's not an accusation, more like a factual statement.
“…Pretty much, that’s the plan.” Sampo's gaze drifts, unable to hold hers any longer. He takes a small sip of his now cold coffee.
“Not even Gepard?”
He nearly chokes on his drink. Sampo starts coughing his lungs out, one hand smacked forcibly on his mouth. “What—” he wheezes, voice strained, “What does Gepard—have to do with anything?!” another coughing fit.
“You tell me, Koski.” she replies, casual and ruthless, folding her arms. “Aren’t you guys pretty close?”
“No!”
It came out harsher than intended. A pause, Sampo winces, feeling bad. None of what he's going through is Natasha's fault, after all.
“No, I… I wouldn't really say we're close. That's not how he sees it, at least.” he adds, quieter and wistful, looking away.
By the Laughter, he's a fucking idiot. Why can't he just get a grip and keep his mouth shut? Whatever happened to not oversharing.
Now Natasha looks really shocked. “What are you talking about? I know for a fact Gepard is very fond of you.”
Halfway between sarcasm and bitterness, Sampo snorts. “Trust me, he isn't.”
Nat opens her mouth as if wanting to say something, then closes it. She purses her lips. “Look, I don't know what happened with you two. But please, tell me this is not the reason why you're leaving.”
Under the table, Sampo is gripping his fists so hard his knuckles pale.
“You’re not going to fix anything like this,” she goes on, gentler but not any less firm. “If anything, you'll only cause yourself more hurt.”
Sampo's eyes flick up, “Girl, you sound like Oleg—” he huffs, exasperated. “For the record, not everything I do revolves around Gepard. Perhaps I want this one thing for myself, is it so hard to believe?”
An old acquaintance once told him that if you keep telling yourself a lie hard enough it will become your reality sooner or later. And here Sampo is, hoping she was right.
Because admitting the truth, that he's in fact giving up on a life he built from scratch to run away from a heartbreak is too much to handle. And he's not ready to face it yet.
Natasha lets out a soft sigh, “In that case, I wish you all the best.” she states, solemn. “I'm just making sure you're not doing anything hasty that you'll regret later on.”
A moment of awkward silence passes, stretches long enough for Sampo to decide it's time to call it a day.
“Sorry, I should be going now.” he says, standing up, no trace of his usual playfulness on his face. “Thanks for the chat, drinks are on me.”
“No way,” Natasha objects as she stands up too, “I am the one who invited you here.”
“Come on, Nat, let me have this.” Sampo gives a small, sad smile. “Who knows when I'll get to treat you out again.”
Natasha looks taken aback for a small fraction. Then, she shakes her head, her gaze softening in silent permission. “Hopefully, soon enough. Take care, Sampo.”
“You too, doc.”
Some time later, many boxes stuffed with brand new toys, clothes, school supplies and all kinds of snacks and treats are delivered to the Belobog City Orphanage from an anonymous donor who signs ‘Mr Cold Feet,’ much to the children's delight.
Departure day comes in a blur. It is the average February afternoon, cloudy, grey, plain and unremarkable, the perfect setting for a farewell to the city that has hosted Sampo for longer than his homeland ever did. A city that, at some point, he thought he could even call home.
The airport terminal is big, noisy, packed with a crowd that's going in and out in all directions. Sampo is already in line for the boarding, carrying his hand luggage distractedly while moving towards the gate as fast as the queue allows him to. Around him, he can spot strangers either hugging in excitement, beaming with joy as they reunite with their loved ones, or shedding sorrowful tears as they have to say goodbye for who knows how long. A girl leaps into her boyfriend's arms and he scoops her up into the air, making her spin while they both laugh and then kiss tenderly. Something constricts in Sampo's chest at the sight.
Nobody is there to bid him goodbye. Nobody will be there to greet him once he lands. This is the day of his promising new beginning, he should be vibrating with anticipation, and yet all he feels is emptiness.
On instinct, he searches for a specific face among many unfamiliar ones, only to feel extremely stupid, disappointed and pathetic afterwards. It's been a week since he and Gepard last spoke, an entire week of radio silence, of Sampo getting his hopes crushed time and time again whenever he saw a new notification on his phone, but it was never from the only person he wished to hear from.
Eventually, Sampo spared himself the headache of keeping his hopes up for nothing and changed his number as a whole, throwing the old sim card away. Scratch blocking a single contact, he's leaving years worth of memories behind. He needs more effective countermeasures.
And besides, what did he expect? This ain't some cheesy movie in which Gepard chases after him and confesses his unending love while the crowd cheers. It's beyond ridiculous to just entertain the thought of it.
It's time for Sampo to face reality, for his laughable, hopeless feelings will never be requited.
It is hard enough to be in love with someone who doesn't love you back, but it's torture when the person in question straight up despises you. Honest to the Aeons, Sampo admits he might be a lot at times, too over the top, annoying even. Just too much… Sampo. But does that really warrant being treated the way he was? Why does Gepard hate him so much?
…Well, it doesn't matter anymore.
The gate closes behind his back. Once Sampo boards the plane and reaches his seat, there's no more room for regrets and what-ifs. What didn't turn out to be was never meant to be, and that's the end of it.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns airplane mode on, then scrolls past the few contacts still stored on the device until he reaches Gepard's out of all. One last time, he looks at the nameless bunch of numbers showcased on display, at the picture of the blond man smiling brightly during one of his sister's concerts—a picture Sampo himself took.
The image blurs as silent tears roll down his cheeks, a single drop lands right on top of the screen.
He presses ‘delete.’
Take-off begins. The plane, gradually but unavoidably, lifts off the ground, leaving Belobog behind for good.
If only he could delete Gepard from his heart just as easily.