[no one falls in love under fluorescent lights]

[homelovefamily]

The party had been different.

It certainly had more in common with the occasional ball that she remembers from her childhood with their bright lights and beautiful dresses and so much champagne than the few other parties she’s been too. Memories keep slipping in more and more each day, leaving her a little unsettled. How does she fit that life, those memories with their ups and downs against the last ten years? It feels like she is two people.

Still she had gone to the party and marveled at it, feeling both at home and strangely disconnected. The cocktail she’s had has done nothing to help those feelings. Deciding to not stay too late was for the best.

Her coat isn’t buttoned, the bright red standing out against the paleness of her dress. The curls in her hair have loosened to waves and she’s certain that she’s leaving a trail of glitter in her way as she walks home. It’s late, but it doesn’t feel far and the cool air feels good after the warmth of the crowd.

Valentine’s Day is a foreign holiday to her, dedicated to a saint that she can name and speak to, but feels no connection to. It’s supposed to be all love and romance, a day to cherish those you love and pursue those that you want to love you.

She doesn’t know much of that kind of love. Anya’s felt that quickening of her heart, the warm pleasant feeling that comes from the mere sight of someone special, especially when their attention is fixed on her.

Her mind might be full of tumbled up thoughts of love and the past and how far she’s come from where she started, but the years have taught her to always be hyper aware when she’s alone at night. Darrow might be safer than some places she’s been, but it is still a city. Movement coming from a cut through walkway catches her attention and she freezes under the light of a street lamp, body tensing for a fight.

The figure moves and is caught by the light from another streetlamp. Realizing who it is, she relaxes a bit. Not fully, but more than she was thirty seconds ago.

“Good evening Gleb,” she greets, trying to sound calmer than the adrenaline in her veins says that she is.

Comments

[butstill]

Gleb knows there's been a party tonight, of course, but he hasn't once considered going. The holiday itself is one he sees little appeal in, as is the case with the way people seem to want to celebrate it, all unnecessary capitalistic nonsense, intended only for the sales of various commodities. Even if that weren't so, he's sure he wouldn't have had any interest in attending. He's heard about these parties thrown in some mansion, the glamor and the excess involved. It reminds him too much of a time long past, one he's worked hard to move Russia forward from, back when everything seemed so much simpler. Were he to go, he knows he would get no enjoyment out of it, so he stays in instead, passing his night the way he does most nights and pointedly trying not to think about who else might be at the party. Nothing good would come of that. There's no reason for it to mean anything to him.

It's only because he's gone out for coffee, having run out in his apartment, that he winds up confronted with exactly what he's been trying to avoid. Anya looks like a vision in the soft glow of a streetlight, her hair loose and wavy, her dress catching the light and flattering in a way he shouldn't notice. "Anya," he replies, inclining his head slightly. "You look... nice." He would be self-conscious in comparison, but at least he's fully dressed this time, unlike that afternoon she showed up at his apartment door, his shirt a plain, warm, plaid flannel. "Were you at that party?"

It seems to speak for itself that she was, but it feels better to ask than to act on assumption.