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The snow had only just begun to fall. Delicate flakes drifted lazily from a sky that still held the sun high and bright, painting Snezhnaya in soft gold and pale white.
The great iron trains cut through the landscape, their wheels screaming against the tracks as they sped toward the border station. Steam hissed from inside to outside into the cold air.
Merchants shouted their wares along the platforms, soldiers in heavy coats moved in formation, and ordinary people went about their day, buying groceries, checking timetables, laughing under the weak winter sun as if the world wasn’t holding its breath.
Some already whispered that the storms were coming.
The real ones. Like no one seen before. The kind that swallowed land whole and turned roads into graves. But for now, the day remained lively and nice to the people. Enough that no one paid much attention to the single figure who stepped off the latest train from the south.
Major Valeriy sat at the heavy wooden desk in his private quarters, the only sound in the room being the scratch of his pen against paper. Snow had begun to fall outside, one by one slowly at first, drifting past the tall windows like it had all the time in the world. The sun was still high, casting a pale golden light over the border station below near his quarters and the distant sound of trains arriving and departing could still be heard through the thick stone walls.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day.
Valeriy’s dark blue coat hung over the back of his chair, leaving him in a black turtleneck that stretched across his broad shoulders. The silver insignia of his rank was pinned neatly to the collar of his uniform. His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration as he wrote his report, gloved fingers moving with practiced efficiency. As a Major stationed at this border watchtower, paperwork was just as much a part of his duty as standing guard.
A firm knock broke the quiet rhythm of his writing.
"Major Valeriy. Sir.”
One of his men approached from the stairs, boots heavy on the metal grating. The soldier saluted quickly, breath fogging in the air.
“Report.”
“Unusual arrival on Platform Three, sir. Just now. Off the southern express.” The man hesitated for half a second. “Didn’t match any of the registered manifests. Red hair. Red eyes. Pointed ears. Dressed… finely, i guess? Like he doesn’t belong on any train today, if you understand me. He didn’t want speak to anyone. Just walked off and stood there like he was waiting for something.”
The major's gaze sharpened hearing the description.
For a moment, the noise of the station seemed to fade beneath the low whistle of the wind picking up.
And he was already moving, descended the stairs without another word, coat flaring behind him. His men knew better than to follow unless ordered.
Because that man already had a name in his mind.
And he prayed to the Tsaritsa that he was wrong.
Valeriy stepped onto the platform, boots striking the stone with deliberate weight. The snow was falling heavier now, delicate flakes turning into something colder. His men had already formed a loose perimeter around the figure standing near the edge of the platform, but none of them moved closer without orders.
He raised one gloved hand.
“I’ll take it from here,” Valeriy said, voice calm but carrying the kind of authority that left no room for argument. “Return to your posts. Keep watch on the perimeter.”
A few of his subordinates straightened immediately.
“Yes, sir!"
They saluted in unison and dispersed without another word, melting back into the flow of the station like they had never been there. The remaining soldiers gave him a respectful distance, though their eyes lingered with quiet curiosity.
Valeriy didn’t spare them another glance.
He walked forward slowly, the crowd instinctively parting around him, slowly leaving him alone.
The figure ahead stood with his back turned, a long white cloak lined with silver thread shifting gently in the rising wind. Strands of red long ponytail hair — streaked with faint black at the roots — spilled from beneath the hood, vivid against the pale skin of his tattoed neck that still visible behind his high collar.
He looked out of place here, too elegant for the noise and steam of the station of Snezhnaya, like a painting someone had hung in the wrong frame.
He stopped a few paces behind the man.
For a moment, he simply observed. The way the man held himself — composed, as if the cold and the noise meant nothing. The silver embroidery on the cloak caught what little sunlight remained, glinting like frost.
Then, slowly, the figure turned.
Red hair framed a face Valeriy had spent years trying to forget. Red eyes that caught the light like garnets, even under the overcast sky. The pointed ears were unmistakable, even half-hidden beneath the hood.
The major's breath caught for half a second, jaw tightened as the noise of the station faded into a dull roar in his ears. The snow continued to fall between them.
The mysterious man's gaze met him without surprise, only an acknowledgment, as if he had been expecting this exact moment.
“Oh, it's you,” the voice carrying the same elegant detachment Valeriy remembered far too well. "Well. Seems like today is my lucky day."
Valeriy didn’t answer immediately. His hand twitched at his side, fingers flexing once before stilling. The bitterness he had buried years ago rose like bile in his throat, mixing with something far more dangerous.
He took one step closer towards the man.
“…You have some nerve showing your face here again.”
For a second, neither of them spoke. Only the howl of the wind and the crackle of the hearth filled the air.
“Major Valeriy,” the man finally greeted him with his smooth voice, like he was addressing a formal gathering instead of an old friend in the middle of nowhere. “Still standing guard like a loyal hound, huh? Some things never change.”
The words landed between them.
Valeriy took a slow step forward, boots heavy against the platform. Snow clung to the edges of his coat and melted against the heat of his body. For a brief, he remembered the way his face used to soften only for this man — years ago, in quieter rooms and darker nights full of the sound of snow falling, when duty hadn’t yet carved such sharp lines into his expression.
That softness was long gone now.
“Noy,"
"What are you doing here in Snezhnaya?” His voice cut through the rising howl of the wind.
The mysterious men called Noy brushed the snow from his shoulder with gloved fingers. The motion was graceful as if he were standing in a sunlit garden rather than a half-frozen station in the middle of the Nation of Cryo. Snowflakes clung to the silver embroidery of his cloak before melting away.
“Visiting,” he answered simply.
“Visiting,” Valeriy repeated, the word flat and cold. He took a step closer, “You disappear for years without a word, and then you walk into a border here during the start of storm of the season like it’s nothing.” His voice dropped lower, “What are you really here for?”
“Always so direct,” he murmured. “Still playing the good soldier, aren't you?"
He moved past Valeriy without waiting for a reply, the silver threads on his dark cloak catching what little light remained. Snow continued to fall around them, soft but growing heavier by the minute. The distant sound of a train whistle echoed across the platform, but neither of them paid it any attention.
“I don’t recall needing to report my movements to you,” Noy added, his tone light but edged with something colder.
“You do when you’re in my sector,” Valeriy said, following him without hesitation. His boots crunched against the thin layer of snow gathering on the stone. He kept his voice low, but there was no mistaking the tension in it. “Last time you were in Snezhnaya, people died. I’m not letting that happen again.”
For the first time, Noy’s red eyes flicked toward him. Something shifted behind that elegant mask.
“I didn’t come here to start another war, Valeriy.”
The wind had picked up, whipping snow across the platform in sharp gusts. It stung against exposed skin and tugged at the edges of their cloaks. In the distance, another train let out a long, low whistle as it pulled into the station, but the sound felt far away. Valeriy stared at Noy, jaw tight, his heart beating harder than it should. He hated how easily this man could still get under his skin. Hated how, even after everything, a part of him still wanted to believe those words.
“Then why are you here?” Valeriy asked again, his voice quieter this time. Almost tired.
Noy didn’t answer right away. He simply looked at him — really looked at him — like he was trying to memorize every change time had carved into Valeriy’s face. The snow was falling heavier now, thick flakes catching in Noy’s red hair and settling on his dark cloak. Around them, the station continued its noise, but it felt distant, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them standing on the cold platform.
When Noy finally spoke, his voice was softer than before.
“Would you believe me if I told you I came to see you?”
The words hit something deep in Valeriy’s chest. For a second, it felt like the storm outside had moved inside him instead. He hated how easily this man could still reach the parts of him he thought he had buried. Hated how, even after all these years, a part of him still wanted to believe it.
Valeriy’s jaw clenched.
“After you left?” he said, voice rough and low. “Without a word. After everything.”
“I had reasons.”
“Reasons you still won’t tell me.”
Noy stepped closer to him. The space between them shrank until Valeriy could feel the faint cold still clinging to Noy’s cloak. When he spoke again, his tone had softened, almost gentle.
“Because if I told you, you would have tried to stop me,” Noy said. “And I couldn’t let you do that. Not when you were already bleeding for this country every single day.”
Valeriy moved before he could stop himself. His hand shot out and caught Noy’s wrist — not hard, but firm enough to feel the steady pulse beneath the skin. Still warm... It was the same wrist he used to hold back when things between them hadn’t yet turned bitter.
“You think I wouldn’t have followed you anyway?” he asked, almost with a growl.
Noy’s expression cracked, just slightly. The elegant mask slipped for a moment, revealing something raw underneath.
“I knew you would have followed me,” he whispered. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
The silence that followed felt heavy. Snow continued to fall around them, and the cold wind bit at their faces. Valeriy’s thumb brushed slowly over Noy’s wrist. Once. Twice. He didn’t let go.
“You’re still an arrogant bastard,” he muttered.
Noy’s lips curved, faint and tired.
“And you’re still a stubborn fool who thinks duty is the same as living.”
Just then, a train rushed past them on the neighboring track. The sudden roar of metal and wind slammed into the platform, loud and violent, sending a gust of cold air and snow swirling around their bodies.
The lively day had turned strangely fast.
What started as a bright afternoon with the sun still high in the sky had quickly darkened. Thick, heavy clouds rolled in from the mountains without warning, swallowing the light and turning the sky into a dull, threatening gray. The wind picked up, sharp and cold, carrying the promise of a real storm. Snow that had been falling gently earlier now came down thicker, harsher, as if the weather itself had decided to trap everyone in place.
Now, the heavy wooden door of Valeriy’s private quarters clicked shut behind them, sealing away the howling wind. The room was larger than expected for a border watchtower near the station. Clearly meant for a high-ranking officer. A sturdy desk still held half-written reports, and the faint scent of woodsmoke and cold metal lingered in the air. It was the kind of space that offered privacy most soldiers could only dream of.
The man kissed him first.
It was rough, frustrated, years of bitterness and unspoken longing poured into the way his mouth claimed Noy’s. Only the raw force of someone who had spent too many nights angry at the memory of this man.
And Noy answered with equal force.
One hand fisted tightly in the front of Valeriy’s heavy, fur-lined coat, yanking it open and shoving it off his shoulders. The thick garment hit the wooden floor with a dull thud. Noy pulled him closer, almost desperately, like he wanted to crawl inside Valeriy’s uniform and disappear into the heat of his body. His other hand gripped the back of Valeriy’s neck, fingers digging in as he kissed back with just as much frustration, just as much need.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. Noy’s forehead rested against Valeriy’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. The fire place crackled softly behind them, while the storm continued to rage outside like it was trying to tear the building apart.
“…I'd missed you,” Noy admitted, the words so quiet they were almost swallowed by the wind.
Valeriy closed his eyes.
His hand moved on its own, sliding up to cup the back of Noy’s neck. His thumb brushed gently along the edge of one pointed ear — a touch that felt far too familiar, far too dangerous after all these years. He could feel Noy’s pulse beneath his fingers, quick and alive.
“I should throw you out into the snowstorm for saying that,” Valeriy muttered, though there was no real threat in his voice.
Noy let out a soft, breathless sound that might have been a laugh.
“You won’t.”
Valeriy was quiet for a moment. Then, low and rough, he answered, “Yeah… I won’t.”
He kissed Noy again slower this time, deeper. The bitterness was still there, lingering at the edges, but it was slowly melting away, just like the snow outside would eventually melt some another sunny day. Underneath it was the feeling they had both spent years pretending didn’t exist. The one that had never truly gone away.
When he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead still pressed against Noy’s, Valeriy’s voice was quieter than before.
“Stay until the storm passes.”
Noy didn’t answer right away. His red eyes searched Valeriy’s face, as if trying to read something written there that even Valeriy wasn’t sure he wanted to show.
“…And after that?” he asked eventually.
Valeriy didn’t have an answer. Not one he could give without lying.
The soldier in him knew this changed nothing. Their positions, their loyalties, the world outside this room — none of it had disappeared just because they were here, breathing the same air again. But the man who had loved Noy for years knew one thing with painful clarity:
This time, he refused to let him slip through his fingers. Not again.
Instead of answering, Valeriy leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Noy’s temple. His lips stayed there for a moment longer than necessary.
“We’ll figure it out later,"