Mishka: Three Phases of Starvation

It took a while for Mishka to notice Aleksei was in love with him.

He went to Aleksei’s room in the middle of the night, scaling the trellis of jasmine in the back and slipping through the balcony. Aleks sat, wide-eyed, in bed while Mishka explained the plan. Mishka kissed him goodbye; it seemed appropriate. They were formally engaged, after all.

Aleks slipped out of bed after him. “Wait,” he said, a bit flushed. “Hang on. I mean—don’t you want me to come with you?”

*Why would I?* Mishka thought, mildly taken aback. Aleksei was… nice, and kind, and Mishka… knew objectively Aleksei was a good person. But Aleksei didn’t seem like the adventuring sort. Aleksei was the sort of person who preferred to stay quietly at home, reading books.

Mishka wet his lips. “Well. If you want to follow me, you’re welcome to.”

“But do you want me to?” Aleksei said.

Mishka didn’t react one way or the other. It would be nice. But it wouldn’t kill him, you know. “Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Tag along.”

Aleksei looked… hurt, for some reason. But it took Mishka a while to figure out why.

#

Mishka could’ve killed himself instead of Aleks. It was the only plan he could think of as he felt his body move out of the ante-chamber, the compulsion screaming at him to cut out Aleksei’s throat. It was the only option.

Him or Aleks.

He picked him, because he was a fucking selfish coward.

It was probably what Aleks would’ve wanted, he told himself later, still numb. Scrubbing the blood off his rapier. He knew he should’ve felt anger, or grief, or rage, but instead he just felt… nothing, fucking nothing. Like his feelings had vanished and left him empty. He told himself that was good.

His hands shook as he cleaned the blade, and he wasn’t sure why.

The dragon didn’t actually eat Aleks. Mishka buried the body outside of Calimport in the sand. He bent down into the hole and closed Aleksei’s eyes. “Good night, Aleks,” he said.

#

Realizing he’d fallen in love with Hansel was like realizing he’d accidentally stepped over the edge of a cliff. By the time he noticed, it was already too late. He’d pulled Hansel over the edge with him like the selfish cunt he was.

*I’m only going to hurt you,* he kept thinking, over and over again. *Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me.*

*Why the fuck can’t you tell I’m dangerous?*

Aleksei hadn’t been able to tell, either. He’d treated Mishka liked a scared kitten in need of coddling. Aleks had been… kind, and gentle, and sweet. Spending ages getting Mishka to lower his guard. Writing him little poems. Waiting patiently for Mishka to trust him. Why couldn't they see what he was? Why couldn't they tell? They were too good for him.

Eventually someone was going to take this from him.

Eventually he was going to hurt them. He hurt everybody.

Eventually he was going to sink the blade into Hansel’s heart, and Hansel would look at him, shocked and betrayed, and Mishka would be left with that gut-wrenching empty feeling again, like everything in his chest had been torn out.

#

He came up with a million ways to destroy his marriage. He needed to hurt Hansel badly enough to wreck things permanently, but not so badly it was obvious. He needed to make it seem like Hansel’s fault, somehow, like Hansel had left him instead of the other way around. It was a fine line to walk.

Eventually, he settled on a plan. Steal the ship, fuck the crew, ditch them all. Then, once it was all done, once Mishka had fucked them as much as he could, he’d go to Hansel and ask Hansel to come with. Once he knew for a fact Hansel wouldn’t.

“You can come with me,” Mishka said. Wording it that way carefully. Not: *I want you to come with me.* Implying he didn’t care one way or the other. That had hurt Aleks badly. Maybe Hansel would be the same. He watched Hansel silently, face cool and smooth, legs delicately crossed.

The insult registered. Hansel’s jaw tightened.

“I mean, I understand, Hans,” Mishka said. “You’re in love with me and need to be around me. You told me so at pretty much every fucking opportunity. Tag along if you like, I don’t fucking care—”

And Hansel’s jaw clenched just a little tighter, just a little.

“—honestly, if I’m being totally candid,” Mishka said, filing his nails. “I’d like it if you came with. You can be useful, sometimes.”

Hansel’s parents thought he was a monster. They favored his human brother. They taught him to be fucking terrified of hurting people.

All those small insecurities. All those weak spots. Things he’d never told anyone else.

Mishka knew how to play this. Pretend Hansel had fucked up, somehow, and that was the reason Mishka was doing this. Mishka said, “Look, I’m sure I can still tolerate you--” Implying Hansel had done something wrong, something to drive him away. “I think it’s time I moved on, though, to another lover. I won’t have you in my bed anymore.” And Hansel’s expression changed at that. That hit a nerve. *That’s right,* Mishka thought. *This is your fault.* He’d leave it ambiguous; he wouldn’t say what Hansel had supposedly done. That would drive Hansel insane.

Hansel didn’t break in front of him. He didn’t say anything. Just shouldered his weapon and left.

Mishka hand tightened on the bottle of gin in his hand.

There was a walled-up cellar at his new estate. He teleported into it with the bottle and sat in the empty room, back to the wall. He drank the entire bottle, and he wept for the first time in years. Heaving gasps and sobs, hating himself more than anything else in the world.

Hansel would never touch him again. Would never trust him again. Never kiss him again, never hold him in the morning, never look at him softly, sweetly, never call him motek or khcohev or ahuvi or husband again.

He cried for an hour or two; he had no way to tell time. The cellar was pitch black, lit only by a small flame in his hand. He cried until he ran out of tears and felt empty again.

This was good, he told himself. Once he got it all out, he could forget about it.

#

He almost went back so many times. Every time he saw they were in port.

He kept telling himself it was better like this. Made more sense like this. By the time the dragon called him back again, Mishka would’ve completely forgotten about Hansel. It would be easy, and painless, and he’d been such a jackass to Hansel that Hansel would easily forget about him, too.

Hansel would fall in love with someone else and be happy that way.

That was how romantic feelings worked, right? You fuck it up enough, you forget it, it fades.

Four years. Plenty of time.

The problem was, he never fucking did forget. The problem was, he kept waking up in the morning, still surprised and confused that his bed was empty. Sometimes reaching for Hansel. Sometimes reaching for Aleks, years dead.

At night, he’d dream of being on the ship again together. He’d dream about Hansel bedding him. He’d dream about… Hansel living at his estate, having breakfast with him (fucking impossible). But the worst part was waking up every single day and remembering what he’d done all over again.

He got fucking desperate, after a while. He tried buying a half-orc whore. Didn’t work. He tried getting blindingly drunk in a tavern and getting someone to take him home—that didn’t work either. Mishka panicked and tried to back out halfway through, but the man hadn’t wanted to quit. The brute tried to hold him down in a back alley. Mishka vanished with a crack out from under him and cut his throat from behind.

Mishka didn’t try again, after that.

He’d lived for decades without being touched. But now that he’d had it for a little while, now that he’d let himself fall in love with someone and then shove them away, it was worse, so much fucking worse.

He felt like he was starving to death.

#

Mishka still remembered the exact moment he met Goro.

The first thing to register was his voice:

“Drop.”

Mishka sat on top the rooftop, feet dangling over the edge, smirking at the Graverunners below. Holding the antidote vials delicately over the edge between his fingers. And then he felt a wave of magic wash over him, like prickling needles. And he felt his hand open, and the vials dropped into the air. The fucking cleric had cast *Command* on him and made him drop the vials.

*Fuck!*

He dove after them, then realized, a second too late, that he was low on magic. No dimension stepping. He snatched one out of the air, hit the ground, and rolled, back on his feet in an instant.

One stood apart from the others, watching Mishka. He wore simple, unremarkable robes—loose enough to hide things in, but short enough and simple enough to be easily moveable. Dark, tousled hair and olive skin. Not pretty, just plain.

*Huh*, Mishka thought for a split second. Then he remembered he was supposed to be doing the whole evil villain thing, and snapped back to reality.

#

His name was Goro. Mishka remembered the name vaguely. Ripley’s stepkid. He was… prettier up close. Very charming eyes—a fair shade of gray, like an overcast sky over the water.

*Huh*, Mishka kept thinking.

#

He was weirdly curious about the kid, even thought he didn’t want to be. He tried to think of a way to force them to interact so they could be... friends, or something. Or maybe he could glean some information. Or maybe if he won the kid's favor, that would help him win over Ripley as well.

He came up with the simplest plan he could think of: pretend to be hurt, give the kid an opportunity to be nice. He could pretend he needed help.

He had a gut feeling Goro was pretending to be a bigger dick than he was. If he could just give Goro an opportunity to help him--fake or real--that might speed things along.

Mishka asked: “What are you trying to get out of me?” The crossbow wound still a pain in his side.

“Fucking nothing, at the moment,” Goro said. “You were the one practically begging me to walk you home.”

#

He kept gathering information about Goro, picking up info from various sources. The problem was, he fucking *liked* Goro, even though there was no logical reason to, even though he could tell the kid was dangerous. It was something about the way he watched people. The way he silently noted the exits whenever he walked into a room.

It reminded Mishka of a younger, harder, meaner version of himself.

The kid had obviously been abused. Mishka’s eyes lingered on the knife scars when Goro took off his shirt in the water; his fingers lingered on the knife scars when his hand slid up Goro’s shirt. *This is probably what I’d be like if someone abused me,* Mishka thought. *I’d probably be like this*. It made Mishka feel—

Violent.

The way Goro shied away from affection. The way Goro dodged compliments like he didn’t trust them.

He kept cutting Mishka like he was trying to test what it would do. And Mishka just kept thinking: if he moved slower this time, more cautiously, if he could somehow trick Goro into trusting him, maybe Goro would…

Would what?

Fuck’s sake.

He felt like he was fucking starving. He felt like he hadn’t touched anyone in two years. He wanted to say *come here* and *calm down*. He knew, though, all those things were wrong. He was looking for affection from the wrong person. He wanted to touch someone and have them lean into it, have them want it. And Goro, Mishka realized, was never going to do that. Goro was never going to like him enough to lean in.

Goro acted like he was waiting for people to hit him.

He tried to be objective about it. The kid was touchy. No big deal. Mishka was touchy, too. And unlike Mishka, it seemed like—well, he’d seen the scars; Goro probably had an actual reason to be touch-averse, unlike Mishka, who was just kind of defective.

He still remembered the exact way Goro held against the wall, unmoving, when Mishka kissed him hard. The way he didn’t… kiss back, or push back, or lean into Mishka. Tensed up, like he had no clue how to move.

Mishka still felt pretty fucking guilty about it.

Goro said: “Aw, Mishka. I hurt your feelings.”

Goro said: “You must be lonely.”

#

He was in a good mood after he reconciled with Hansel. Spent a couple days relaxing.

Goro stayed in the back of his mind. He was doing it wrong, Mishka realized. He was approaching this friendship wrong, somehow, because the things he did kept not working, but he couldn't figure out how. Maybe he just wasn’t being… honest enough, or kind enough. He kept thinking: What would Hansel do? Hansel was weirdly good at befriending people, somehow, in spite of the whole cannibal thing.

Goro, he realized in retrospect, had helped him a lot. The kid genuinely was trying to help him ally with Ripley. For no reason. Mishka stretched in the armchair in the library and glanced at Hansel. “Hey. I’m going to pop down to the docks real quick, talk to the other Graverunners.” He would appear in the crow’s nest, leaning over the railing, and call down at them on deck. Maybe swing dramatically down the rigging, or grab a rope and slide down. Badass, right? That was a good plan.

Hansel nodded, half-asleep. He’d been napping for almost two days straight.

Mishka didn’t even bother changing clothes; just wore his loose white tunic and casual breeches. He stood, barefoot, and put the mask back on. “Back in an hour or so,” he said. “Get some rest, beloved.” And he vanished with a crack.

#

Mishka only remembered bits and pieces after that, half blacked-out bits.

Goro stood in the crow’s nest. He whirled when Mishka appeared, instantly on-guard. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Mishka said, setting his hand on Goro’s arm.

“What the fuck? You’re not Mishka,” Goro said. “Why are you touching me?”

And Mishka said—things. He still couldn't completely remember what they were, but he remembered... pieces. *Thank you,* and: *for the past two years, my head has not been clear.* He said, *I've been doing some really fucking stupid things.* He said, *I know the first time, you weren’t trying to be my friend.* He said, *Thank you.*

Goro’s expression didn’t quite change. Mishka remembered watching it, trying to find any hint. “Sure,” Goro said. “Happy to.”

*Huh*, Mishka thought.

#

This next part was fucked.

He didn’t want to think about the next part. The part with Diva, and being a host. He’d thought about it enough already.

#

Goro infected him. It wasn’t his fault, obviously; the fucking kid even risked his life to bring Mishka back, a fact that was… wildly confusing and completely irrational. (He had to missing something about that. Something didn’t make sense.)

Mishka forced himself to set it aside. Not to get angry, or ask why the fuck Goro hadn’t warned him, why Goro hadn’t—told him, or—

Fuck.

He probably deserved to be hosted, anyway. Karma. For what he's done to Aleksei, or what he's done to Asenka, or... a million other things. But being around Goro set Mishka on edge, body tense, teeth clenched tight to keep larvae out. He had to constantly remind himself to breathe. Had to constantly remind himself it wasn’t Goro’s fault. Diva had done this. No one else.

He forced himself to act calm and continue allowing Goro in his personal space.

Goro was making an effort to stay away. That helped. But each time, Mishka swallowed back his overwhelming terror and laughed like it was nothing. “Come on, come back up here,” he said, leaning down the stairs. “Come here and we’ll talk like adults.” Coaxing Goro out of his room.

He’d felt like he was making progress for a split fucking second. He had to force himself to stop being so touchy. He had to force himself to keep lowering his guard, even though he didn’t want to.

#

Goro gave him a bottle of wine when he was having a panic attack.

Then Goro turned away and started to leave, Mishka forced himself to call out and ask him to come back. “Hey, hey, hey,” Mishka snatched up the bottle. For a couple seconds he felt like himself again. “Come drink it with me. I’ve been meaning to ask you about a couple things.” *Please don’t leave me here alone with my thoughts. I need someone. Help me.*

Goro stopped, turned around, arms crossed. Tipped his head to one side. “I don't drink.”

“Ah. Alright.”

A bit of disappointment. Mishka thought to cover it with some of his usual humor, but he couldn’t quite manage it today. Instead, he just. Well. Sounded disappointed. And had nothing to hide it with. It was a nice gift. He’d... leave Goro alone, then. He set the bottle down. He’d drink it later.

Goro kept standing there, waiting. He tapped his foot once or twice. “God, you are off your game tonight,” he said—and invited Mishka to come sit down with him anyway.

Mishka couldn’t fucking figure it out with him.

#

“Why’d you kiss me that one time?” Goro asked, half-drunk.

Mishka hid his surprise. “I mean, there wasn't one reason. Sort've a lot of small things.” He thought of saying: *You look a lot like Aleks.* That seemed rude, however, or... dismissive, because even though Goro looked quite a bit like Aleks (it was the dark hair, and something about the eyes) Aleks had been very uncomplicated and sweet and, well, not like Goro. Mishka had just kind of dragged Aleks into things.

“I was fucked up,” Mishka said. “I'm not usually attracted to people that often. I can count on one hand the number of people I've ever seriously considered sleeping with. I missed my husband. I needed a distraction. I liked you. I don't know.”

Goro’s expression gave nothing away. Zero hint. It was just blank.

*Why didn’t you kiss me back?* Mishka thought to ask, but the answer to that seemed fairly obvious. He thought about apologizing, but didn't.

Then finally Goro tipped his chin down and raised his eyebrows. “Huh.” He waved a hand. “Your turn.”

Mishka kept watching during the conversation for any hint Goro might… like him. Bare minimum, it seemed like the kid found him amusing, or something. He wanted to ask if Goro liked him at all, even for a moment here for there, but didn't.

But at the end of the night, Goro said, “I thought, maybe, you were... a friend. Or could be one. Seems stupid in hindsight. You know, since you're such a prick.” He slid the bottle and what was left of its contents across the table, and scooted his chair back. And then after that, he went to bed.

"G'night, Aleks," Mishka said automatically, without thinking about it.

#

*Good night, Aleks*, Mishka had said, and pushed the sand onto Aleksei’s body.

#

Goro acted… different that Mishka expected… on the ship.

He’d assumed that Goro was unfriendly towards him because that was just how Goro was. He’d assumed Goro was just kind of a dick, and eventually once Mishka did the right thing and got close enough, it’d stop.

But he kept watching out of the corners of his eyes. Catching Goro talking to Miss Basha, catching Goro talking to Nixie. Even caught him talking to Turtle Kid a couple times. The kid was willing to work with them, willing to make it… work, somehow. Just not Mishka, apparently. The kid was smitten with Nixie, obviously, but—

He just kept wanting to say: *What the fuck? Why do you keep mocking me when I try to lower my guard? What’s different about me?*

*Aw, Mishka*, Goro had said. *I hurt your feelings.*

He just felt—fucking angry, and yeah, his feelings were hurt, which made him feel fucking pathetic, which made him even angrier. He’d tried every solution he could think of—fought Goro, took him to dinner, talked to him sober, got him drunk, tried to manipulate him, tried being emotionally honest, tried being vulnerable, tried being nice, tried being mean, tried punching him, tried kissing him—

And each time, nothing changed.

And it just didn’t fucking work. Every time. Nothing he did moved it any fucking direction at all. Eventually, Mishka caught on. Goro…

Just plain didn’t like him much.

He knew if he told Hansel, Hansel would roll his eyes and jokingly call him an idiot and a fuckup and a disaster—not meaning it, not trying to hurt him, just… saying it. And Mishka would laugh delicately and brush it off and silently wonder what the fuck was wrong with him, why he was so fucked up that even when he was genuinely trying, nothing happened. Maybe he really was just a fucking idiot about this. Maybe he was defective. Maybe he really was doing every single step wrong.

The only way Mishka ever made friends before was pretending to be someone else. He crafted his persona carefully. He’d been a charismatic pirate captain for something like twenty-ish years. He hosted small parties at his estate. He visited the palace and walked through the gardens with Basil de Rolo, chatting about the weather, and giving the Warmaster political advice, and slipping in compliments and flattery.

It was impossible as himself.

#

Goro helped him with the jade pendant thing. Mishka kept telling himself it should’ve been enough; that Goro had done the bare minimum and prevented him from dying, and really that was… a gesture of friendship, or something.

(“Goro,” he remembered saying. “I need your help. I need someone’s help. I need help, I need someone—”)

Goro had dragged him below deck, and taken him to Hansel as requested, and then stood aside silently, not sympathetic, just silent. He could’ve sworn he caught a flicker of scorn on his face for a split second, but maybe he was just making that up. He'd been out of his mind.

Why the fuck did that bother him? What was he expecting? Concern? Mishka already knew he was fucking weak for needing help in the first place, anyway. Goro was just the only person sharp enough to notice.

#

He tried talking Goro into pitching the necklace overboard.

He thought about being honest. He thought to say: *I’m afraid of you using it, you fucking jackass. If you take it to get appraised, they’ll tell you the command word. I can tell you’re like me. I can tell you’ll use it in the wrong circumstances. I’m not gonna let you do that. Honestly, someone should probably take that wand from you, too.*

So instead he said, “Listen. I’m really fucked up right now. I don’t want to be in a situation where I try to take it from you again later. Will you just—I’m asking you as a favor. Will you just pitch it overboard?”

Goro looked amused. “Mishka, where I put it, you won’t find it.”

He thought to say: *Please. I’m fucking begging you. You realize I could dominate you into getting it for me again, right? I can take it from you anytime I want. I’m not going to be able to sleep with that fucking thing onboard.*

He kept thinking: *Can’t you see I need help? Fucking help me. I begged you to help me.*

Mishka didn’t say that, though. It just made him feel pathetic, and outright asking hadn't worked so far. He kept thinking if he reached his hand far enough, Goro might help him up. But it just kept… not working. He was reaching for the wrong person. Aleksei was dead. Mishka killed him.

“Alright,” he said, deadpan.

Instead he dragged Nixie over and emotionally blackmailed the kid into pitching it overboard. That worked, at least. Mishka needing help? Not important. Goro potentially killing himself with the pendant? Nah, that wasn't anything to be concerned about, apparently. But Nixie thinking badly of him? That worked. Yeah. Of course that **fucking** worked.

#

Goro gave him a note.

*I think you must’ve been scared shitless,* the note said. *But you stuck around anyway. So thanks. I can’t even tell you the relief I felt when your spell took hold. When we’re finished taking care of Diva, I’m calling in my last 30 minutes.*

Mishka slipped it out of his pocket and read it silently in Hansel’s room when no one else was around. He slid down the wall.

He silently folded it and put it into his pocket, thinking it over. Fucking kid was trying to manipulate him again. Or… trying to be nice, for once. It wasn’t clear. He couldn’t tell the tone. Sometimes Goro did seem almost nice, or almost honest, for a second or two. That always made it worse, somehow. Kept him hanging on when he should’ve given up a long time ago.

It was always so much fucking—**worse** when Mishka let himself lower his guard. He really fucking liked Goro, even though he knew the kid was dangerous, even though he ought not to. Even though the kid kept cutting him.

Mishka put the note in his pocket and tried to forget about it. Maybe he could wait.

#

He kept the note in his pocket for a full day, trying to figure out how he felt about it. Maybe he felt too many things.

And then Hansel. Got drunk. Put Goro in a headlock. Got Goro to cry. And talk about his problems. In five minutes. While Hansel was wasted, and Goro was sober.

What the fuck.

*Oh*, Mishka realized dumbly. It was just. True then. It wasn’t that… Goro was a dick, or hard to talk to. Mishka was just defective. Or maybe Goro was just the first person who actually realized that Mishka really was awful. Maybe the kid was too smart to like him.

But Hansel loved him; so Mishka took his time with Hansel and made himself relax. Made himself not think about it. Once Hansel wandered off to talk to someone else, Mishka slipped below deck.

He dug the note out of his pocket, flipped it over, and scribbled a short response. He counted out five hundred gold from his purse. Then he shoved both the note and the money under Goro’s door.

Then he went to Hansel’s room and shut the door.