Mishka: Candlenight, Part One

When Mishka was small, his sister Asenka once told him: "Little mouse, you cannot control other people."

Mishka frowned at her. Of course he could control over people. He'd been working on that spell for a while. Most of the time he could make it so they weren't even aware of it: pulling at them gently, just enough they'd think it was their own idea. Careful and cautious. He didn't have enough control yet, though.

He could control people other ways, too. Without magic. Once his governess had hit him. Mishka hated her. So he stole his mother's favorite earrings and stuck them in the governess's room. When Mishka's mother found them, she'd fired the woman and had her arrested.

That had been good.

"Huh. Okay," Mishka said. Agree to disagree, he thought. Obviously, Asenka was mistaken.

Mishka could control everyone.

Mishka would control everyone, one day.

#

After his fight with Goro, Mishka went back to his room-- or, that was, Hansel's room. Hansel was already asleep.

Mishka paused by the bed, checking him over. Still lots of external injuries. Had to fix that, once one of the healers had more power. God. He collapsed in bed with Hansel and kissed his forehead, though he was sleeping heavily. Didn't matter. Didn't mean anything. Hansel wasn't awake to feel it. But Mishka did it anyway.

Hansel's face was twisted, his eyebrows scrunched. His face eased when Mishka kissed him.

Mishka couldn't sleep. So instead he sat down at the desk and lit a small gas lamp and started making doodling lists. He made lists of what to get people for Candlenights, and lists of--

Fuck.

Was he getting Goro a Candlenights gift, now? God damn it. He dug a list out of his drawer, a list he'd been working on before.

THINGS GORO MIGHT LIKE, it said. He had started writing it a week ago.

Goro did not like soft and delicate things. He liked sharp knives and bizarre objects. He liked fucked-up magical shit.

Maybe: A freaky sacrificial dagger Mishka had stolen from the Leng Isles. Carved from unknown black wood. Still stained with blood in the grooves.

Maybe: A bizarre manuscript in a foreign language. Mishka had picked it up a few years ago from a merchant ship he'd raided. No expert he'd taken it to had managed to decode it yet. They all said it was no language anyone spoke. It was old, but not magical. The word "Voynich" appeared on the front, pressed into the leather. Inside were bizarre illustrations of strange and unusual plants and herbs. Goro liked weird shit, maybe he'd like that.

Or-- Mishka could give him some more experience. No, fuck that, he'd just said he was done. God damn it. He scribbled that suggestion out; he'd written it a week ago, before he'd even noticed Goro avoiding him.

Nothing. He would get Goro nothing. Get everyone else very cool, expensive gifts. Pretend to forget Goro. Make a point. Drive him off. Hurt him. Better to fucking do it now, before he fucking-- before fucked the kid up, or got him killed, like he did Asenka and Aleksei and Tricksy and Corven and Elitash and Bethie and everyone else he'd ever fucking touched. Like he killed Hansel. He kept... he kept halfway doing it, halfway pulling away, then coming back, writing Goro a nasty note and then apologizing. Because he was weak. He was making it worse. He was making this so much worse than just leaving.

He shut his eyes. And he thought: *What's actually good for Goro? Not something he wants, necessarily. Just something that'll be good for him. Helpful. Something that'll make him happy.*

 Mishka's eyes fell on Hansel.

Mishka was just... he was just fucking jealous. Of Hansel. He liked them together so much, and he wanted it too.

Hansel had gotten Goro's defenses down in one night. Mishka had been trying for months and he didn't know what he was doing wrong. It felt like nothing he did **did** anything. Nothing he'd done mattered.

They had both been in pain. Hansel had almost killed Goro twice. Mishka had tried. He had tried telling Goro that-- tried saying *Are you alright* and *Let me help you* and *I'm on your side.* Shoved it at him. Blunt; Hansel had said being blunt worked. But it didn't. Or maybe it had-- Goro had curled up in his arms for a few moments, heavy and cold, still bleeding and burnt from the lightning. That had felt good. Until Goro had bolted away again, afraid of old ghosts.

It felt like shit when Goro talked about wanting to kill him. It'd been hell to explain. He'd thought that maybe once he was done, Goro would understand. Mishka couldn't tell. Goro didn't seem to care one way or the other; he'd just wanted Mishka to be the bad guy, and was disappointed Mishka wasn't.

Mishka didn't know how to fucking feel about that.

And then after that-- when Mishka had tried giving him the earring-- the way Goro shut it down without asking, kept avoiding his gaze, the way Goro shifted and bit and refused to explain. The kid just plain wasn't comfortable with him in the room.

He needed to stop expecting things. He thought that if he... went slower this time, or more carefully, it'd be easier, be better. That eventually Goro would relax. But he kept-- not. It always worked just long enough for Mishka to feel pleased and happy, like he'd won, and then Goro would crawl away again. He needed to stop expecting things. He needed to stop wanting Goro to like him.

He needed to stop wanting Goro at all.

He'd thought he could let his guard down and enjoy it. For one night on the ship. He'd told himself: *One time, one very good time, and then it will be over, and I can stop thinking about it.* It had been a fucking lie. It was worse having it for a day, then losing it again. Better to have never had it in the first place.

He was fucking tired of fucking lying to himself. More likely-- more likely he'd never had it at all. More likely Goro had seen him as a stepping stone to get to Hansel, or... a powerful ally he'd wanted on his side, briefly... and things were over now that Mishka was allies with Joan and Goro didn't need to play games with him anymore.

He hated that he'd fallen for it.

He kept overthinking it. From every angle. From: *I must've done something really fucking wrong,* or, *maybe he's scared of me again,* to, *maybe he was just fucking with me.* Ending with: W*hy the fuck do I care?* And that gave him the panicky feeling again, and he shut off all those thoughts before they got too far.

He probably deserved to be fucked with. He'd done it to loads of people. Faked interest and then pulled away. Mishka thought he was too good to get got. He'd always assumed he'd win this game: either he'd be the one fucking with Goro, or he and Goro might genuinely like each other and then they'd both win. He'd never imagined actually wanting something and not having it. Hadn't even crossed his mind. Fucking Mishka Plans.

*I miss you. I miss you. Come talk to me.*

 More likely, Goro had simply been attracted to him. Mishka had been powerful, and dangerous, and intimidating, and Goro thought that was interesting. He remembered touching Goro's pulse, feeling the beat racing there. Once Goro had realized that it was a front... once he'd realized that Mishka was softer and more delicate, that Mishka didn't actually want to hurt him... the attraction had vanished. Yeah. That was the most likely. That's what had happened on the ship. Mishka had let his guard and down he'd been fucking weak and look where it had fucking gotten him.

Goro did not like soft and delicate things. He liked sharp knives and bizarre objects. He liked fucked-up magical shit. Mishka had been all of those things, but not anymore.

(Except Goro had kissed him back, on the couch, and Hansel had looked at them smiling stupid, and-- that had been a good moment, a really good moment--)

He needed to stop. That needed to stop. He wanted it so bad he felt like he was going to burn alive again. Stop over-thinking and over-analyzing and coming up with ten theories and twenty plans.

He sank onto the floor, put his head in his hands, and took a steady breath.

He imagined he was a small, cold stone. A gray rock on a white beach. Inside the stone. Hard surface. Cool skin. Slow breaths. Gentle waves. Soft and still.

Soft and still.

Dimly, Mishka realized was he'd been doing. He'd been trying to do nice things to Goro and protect Goro because he'd assumed that would make Goro... like him, or care about him somehow. It was, in a way, selfish. Mishka could not control other people. Goro wasn't obligated to spend time with Mishka simply because Mishka gave him things.

Maybe he ought to stop doing that. Maybe he ought to just... stop expecting reciprocation. Maybe he should just do nice things for Goro because he wanted to, not because he wanted something out of it. Not because he wanted Goro to like him back.

Okay. Yeah.

Yeah. He could do that.

He grabbed his list of Candlenights gifts. Something that was good for Goro. He could do that. He had a plan, but it would take a couple steps.