Dimya, post-canon, 1.8k. I just want to see them dancing. For Feb. 23.
Dmitry sat across from Anya in a booth just big enough for the two of them in a small club in Paris. As he nursed a glass of vodka, he watched Anya as she gazed across the room.
She was fixed on the couples dancing in the middle of the club, swaying and swinging to the band.
The thing about Paris was that everything was so new. New fashion, new etiquette, new social norms, new style of dance to move to until your feet were sore. Everything was quick and lively, unlike anything they were used to in Russia.
Anya was captivated by the quick-steps. It was much faster and more choreographed than anything she had practiced with Dmitry—faster than anything her body knew.
She was no stranger to dancing but as she watched the sharp movements, she was perplexed. How did one learn to step in time so quickly? It was hard enough to get Dmitry to step in time to a waltz.
The longer she watched the more her shoulders hunched and her back twisted to get a better view of the dancers. She hadn’t noticed she was sitting in an otherwise uncomfortable position.
“Something on your mind?” Dmitry’s voice interrupted her thoughts and she remembered she was sitting across the table from him.
Anya came back to him and she sat up straight. A force inside her drew her upright like the days of their lessons. “No,” she replied quietly. She took a sip from her glass, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.
A soft laugh escaped Dmitry’s lips, “Anya.”
Her eyes were fixed on a man and woman gliding across the floor. “Have you seen the way they dance here?” Anya asked.
She had a distant look in her eye and Dmitry followed her gaze. “It’s quite different than our days waltzing around an empty library,” he replied. He cleared his throat, “if you could even call it that.”
Anya watched the way the woman twirled around, how her skirt fanned out as she moved, how she laughed, how she looked so in love with the man she was dancing with. “It’s beautiful,” she mused.
Dmitry smiled with the swell in his chest as he watched how she leaned across the table to get a closer look. Truthfully, dancing had never been a strong suit for him. He could tell that from the way Vlad let out an exasperated sigh after hours of practice.
But Anya was enamored, and he would be damned if he didn’t try his best to make her dreamy vision a reality.
“Do you want to try?” he asked. He had sipped enough vodka to shake his apprehension. Probably.
Anya’s lip was caught between her teeth as she watched. Typically, this would be where she would jump in without a second thought. She was fearless. He admired that about her.
Her shoulders dropped with a sigh. “No,” she replied quietly. She waved him off, “I couldn’t go stumbling around out there.”
“Anya,” he interjected with a warm reassurance that made her pause and catch his gaze.
“Perhaps another time,” Anya replied. She drained her glass and Dmitry knew she had made up her mind.
Decidedly, this had been enough socializing for the night. And by socializing, Anya and Dmitry bought drinks and sat at a table in a club and people watched into the late hours of the night.
Dmitry took her hand and led her away from the table. Her eyes were sleepy as she looked up at him. He brushed a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. “Let’s go home,” he murmured.
Anya took his arm as they walked to the door, stealing a glance at the dancers as they left. Dmitry pushed the door open and led Anya out onto the street. She nestled her head to his shoulder as they walked.
Back in their own flat, Dmitry let out a sigh as he crossed the threshold, like he was shedding his social persona. Anya smiled as she watched him pull his suit coat off and she sat on a footstool to slip her heels off.
She fussed with a buckle, she felt Dmitry press a kiss to the top of her head as he passed through the room. He brushed past her as he loosened his tie and walked into the bedroom. Anya scooped up her heels and followed him.
There was always an unceremonious stripping of their societal personas when they came home. They had never discussed it, but it was comforting to exhale after a long night of being social and enjoy each other’s company.
Dmitry was down to his dress shirt, which he had hastily untucked, and was now combing his fingers through his hair. Anya stole a glance at him as she held pins in her mouth from taking her hair down. Somehow he still always had a rebellious air about him, even when he was dressed neatly in a suit.
He unbuttoned his collar and let out a sigh. Dmitry turned to look at Anya and they exchanged a glance with each other.
She smiled and cast her eyes away as she brushed her hair. Anya felt his hand on her waist as he rounded her and crossed the room to their wardrobe.
Her brow arched as she watched him pull one of their suitcases from its resting place beside the wardrobe. He hadn’t touched it since the day she had found him on the bridge—or so she had thought.
It turned out Dmitry stored belongings in there, where he thought no one would go looking. He smiled as he pulled a record out and walked over to the player to slip it on the table.
He turned it on low and Anya turned to look at him, raising a brow.
“Is this the band Lily was raving about last week?” Anya asked.
It was a record Dmitry had carefully “borrowed” from Lily’s flat.
Dmitry shrugged, “is it?”
“Dima,” Anya paused and dug her hands into her hips. “Did you take this from Lily’s?”
His lip curled into a smirk and he gave her a knowing shrug, one she had seen many times when he had gotten into something he shouldn’t have.
“Dima,” Anya chided.
“I guess you can never fully stamp it out,” Dmitry retorted.
Anya clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Poor Lily, she didn’t know she was inviting a few kleptomaniacs into her life between you and Vlad.”
Dmitry laughed as his fingers found their way to her waist, “I’m just borrowing it!”
“And you’ll return it?” Anya was still as she looked at him in the reflection of the mirror.
He buried his nose into her neck. “—eventually,” Dmitry replied.
Anya rolled her eyes and shook her head. She reached up and cupped his cheek where he rested his chin on her shoulder. He smiled at her as he placed his hand over hers, always pleading his own innocence.
“Is this the kind of band that had you so captivated?” Dmitry asked.
Anya smiled and her cheeks turned pink as she nodded.
He pulled her hand down from his cheek and held her hand in his own, “you’d still dance with me, right?”
Anya tried to hide her blush in her cheeks. “Of course, Mr. Sudayev.”
He led her away from the vanity, into the middle of the floor. Dmitry carefully took her hand and swayed with her. He had to admit, he hadn’t studied this as carefully as Anya, but it didn’t seem too difficult to figure out.
Anya squeezed his hand and shook her head. “Let me lead,” she whispered.
“Vlad said I’m supposed to lead,” Dmitry retorted as he held his chest to make him taller.
“You don’t get to lead when you don’t know where you’re leading!” Anya replied smartly.
Dmitry scoffed as he pretended to take offense.
Anya smiled as she moved stocking-footed across the room. She held his hands and moved with him, mimicking the moves she had seen at the club.
She started slowly to help him catch the rhythm. Anya’s brow knit as she stared at their feet on the floor. A soft smile tugged at Dmitry’s lips, watching how determined Anya was to get this down.
He seemed to catch on rather quickly, and he spun her out and twirled her around. Anya laughed as she felt the push and pull in his grip like a magnetic force between them.
Her laugh was a song he would never tire of hearing.
It seemed so informal to be dancing in their bedroom, with Anya in her stockings and him with his shirt collar unbuttoned, but it felt like home. They didn’t need a tile floor or a big band as long as they had each other.
Anya held his gaze as she skipped with him and he laughed. Dancing with her felt like a physical manifestation of his heart’s song for her.
“I’ve seen people do something like this,” Anya added, twirling out and returning back to him.
“Is that right?” Dmitry teased as he moved his feet with hers.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Anya teased. “I thought swing was too new-fangled for you?”
“Are you calling me old?” He laughed.
“I’m calling you stubborn,” Anya corrected.
“Stubborn?” He laughed. “Me?”
Anya shushed him and let the beat of the music take over. It turned out they weren’t so bad at this after all.
“Do you trust me?” He asked.
Anya laughed and returned a coy smile, “I think we’re well past that, don’t you?”
His lip tugged into a smirk and he pulled her into his chest and lifted her.
Anya laughed as he set her back on her feet and she twirled around.
He pulled her back into him and Anya rested her head on his chest while her heart raced.
The record came to a stop and they turned and looked at it, both out of breath.
Dmitry looked down at Anya, a dreamy look still in her eyes.
He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips to hers.
Anya stood on her toes—he had a horrible habit of uncomfortably slouching his shoulders in his excitement— and kissed him back. She felt his arm slip around her waist like it was made to be there.
She ran her fingers through his hair as she cradled his head, fingertips grazing his jawline. Dmitry’s chest heaved as he looked down at her and he captured her hand in his own.
It was better than any club he could have taken her to. Their love didn’t need to be loud and public. Their trust in each other was as intimate as stocking feet on their bedroom floor.
Future Hall of Famer Rogers Hornsby batting and Roger Bresnahan catching at the New York Giants' spring training camp in Sarasota, FL, February 23, 1927.
Photo: Bettmann Archives/Getty Images/Fine Art America
New Yorkers stand on long lines outside of schools all over the city to get their War Ration Book No. 2, February 23, 1943, during World War II. Officials estimated that there were about 2,000 people on line here at P.S. 59 on 57th Street between Second and Third Avenues.
#project hail mary
#lana del rey
#aesthetic
