Mal Oretsev did not like being vulnerable.

Perhaps it was one of the many consequences that came with being an orphan. If he had grown up in a family that loved him unconditionally rather than under the hand of stern Ana Kuya at Duke Keramzov's estate then perhaps he would be different.

Ana Kuya had not been the surrogate mother Mal once dreamed her to be. She had been austere with the children, ingraining in their minds how lucky they were to be taken care of by the Duke and to keep him in their prayers every night. She drilled good manners and gratefulness into them so much that they now came to Mal as second nature.

But she had not been his mother, and Mal often forgot that.

He did not remember his mother. She had died when he was still a young boy, alongside his father and any other relatives he may have had. He was brought to the orphanage by a stranger, where he had met Alina. The small girl with tan skin and hollowed cheeks, who looked as though she had not ate a proper meal in weeks.

The only way Mal could remember feeling when they met was magnetised. It was as though there was an invisible string between them, tugging one another every which way. Unpredictably they became best friends, family, never one without the other.

And while Mal had opened his heart to Alina, he had struggled to do so since. Mikhael and Dubrov were a different story, because they were friends, and they had pushed their way into his heart and broken down his walls without a regard. He allowed himself to be vulnerable with those people, but had made a promise to himself that he would not do it with someone else.

Then came Thalia.

A curious girl, Mal must admit. In the short time they have known each other, he had picked up on several of her funny little tics; such as sneezing awfully loudly and then pretending it didn't happen, or deliberately walking on her toes to keep the heel of her boots sharp. She ate cereal with mounds of rationed sugar, much to the displeasure of those around her, who were so used to her having none that the sudden change left them with barely any for themselves. She smiled when he pointed out the stray milk dripping down her chin, then blushed when he moved to wipe it off.

Once upon a time, Mal had thought of Grisha as the enemy. Now, he realised that they were much more.

He knew that much when he woke on Thursday morning in a bed that most certainly was not his own, with an arm thrown hastily across his chest, shirtless. It wasn't that Mal had forgotten it happened, he just thought that something so wonderful could only have been a dream. A very graphic dream. A very intimate dream.

A very not a dream, dream.

As Thalia snored rather loudly from his side, Mal came to the realisation that for someone who hated feeling as such, vulnerable was the only way to describe it.

When he had volunteered to deliver the message of Yakovlev wishing to see Zoya, Mal had meant no more than to make sure that Thalia was okay. She had been quiet since the night that he had patched up her hands, and though she smiled brightly and waved like somewhat of a maniac when they crossed paths and talked animatedly when he approached, she was quiet.

Quiet in a way that reminded Mal eerily of himself the night after Alina left. Quiet in the way that one was only after losing the person they loved most in the world.

He wanted to make sure she was okay, and in a way, he had. Not in the way he intended, but Thalia had certainly sounded alright the night prior.

And then he found his involuntarily mind wandering.

Perish the thought, he scolded himself. You've got no right.

Thalia made a small noise in her sleep, as though protesting, and Mal's eyes now wandered to her sleeping figure instead of the deep crevices of his mind. She was pressed firmly against his side, head tucked between the pillow and his shoulder, one of her arms thrown haphazardly across his chest.

He found himself gazing, admiring. She was unbearably beautiful, so much so that Mal found it hard to believe that it was he she was interested in. Even with the scars that lined her neck and the freckles that dotted her face in the pale sunlight seeping through the closed door, Mal thought she was perhaps the single most angelic thing he had ever seen.

He physically ached with it.

They have not known each other for very long, and yet, Thalia now seemed to know him better (and more intimately) than anyone else. She had done the things that many girls dreamed of, and Mal felt a sense of guilt alongside the euphoria that coursed through his veins.

She was delicate, and he worried that without the right care, then she would simply shatter into pieces. Was he able to provide the care that she so rightly deserved after all she had been put through, and did he deserve to be the one to give it to her?

Sure, Mal had prayed to the moon and the stars for someone who might fully understand him as a child, but he had not expected it to come in the form of a Heartrender too pretty for her own good with a penchant for dramatics.

But she came anyway, like bringing sunshine into this everlasting night and painted his plain canvas with intricate shapes in bright colours known to only them, and Mal found himself tightening the arm around her bare waist ever so slightly, as though to make sure she was not a figment of his imagination.

Thalia's eyes fluttered open not a moment later, followed by an uncharacteristically loud yawn. She peered one eye open to look at him, her voice drenched in sleep and Mal thought he could've listened to her speak for the rest of his life, "Hi."

His heart positively fluttered, "Hi."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mal had always known he would be a soldier. It was his destiny, written in the stars by his Saints. As a Non-Grisha in Ravka, you had one of three future paths to choose from: join the First Army, become a house wife, or die.

Being a man, he very well couldn't be a housewife and stay home with the children all day. And at the age of eighteen, death hadn't sounded very appetising either.

So he enlisted in the First Army. He worked his way up in the ranks, going from solider to general in what seemed like no time at all. It gained him admiration from his forerunners and recognition from his predecessors.

He was Mal Oretsev, General of the First Army and Ladies Man.

But still, through all the admiration thrown his way and all the girls who attempted to tie him down, Mal never found himself able to settle in one place for very long.

Alina had joined the cartography unit, and it was seldom that the two found themselves in different camps. No matter how hard the world tried to tear them apart, the invisible string kept them together.

With joining the army, Mal knew he would have to face sacrifices. No longer was be able to do what he wished in his leisure, but instead had to be ready to up and leave at a moments notice. He wasn't permitted to spend his hours daydreaming anymore, because the real world was becoming vastly dangerous and it needed his full attention.

So, when Yakovlev called all First Army to the meeting tent later that morning, Mal knew it couldn't have been good news. He bid Thalia farewell with a tentative kiss to the cheek (which was thwarted by her own bad timing, Mal ended up meeting her jaw instead) and a promise to catch up with her later.

But now, Mal wasn't entirely sure there would be a future.

"Morozova's Stag," Yakovlev said, holding up a picture that Mal recognised only too well. His stomach clenched involuntarily. "As it turns out, that mad git Kirigan thinks it's real. He wants one of you to find it."

Laughter echoed through the tent, but Mal could not bring himself to join in. He had heard about the Stag from Alina, and he knew that the drawing could only be hers. How it got here, he doesn't know. Why it got here, he does.

Amongst the raucous laughter of his fellow army, Mal's voice is clear, "I'll go."

Yakovlev gapes at him, "We can send someone from another camp, Corporal. We don't want to lose one of our best trackers."

Mal gave a sharp shake of his head, "I'm going. I'm the only one who can find it."

Dubrov laughed brightly from his left side, clamping a heavy hand on Mal's shoulder, "What makes you so sure of that, Oretsev?"

And he knows. He's known the answer since Alina told him of the dream she had the first time. He's known since she radiated sunlight in the Fold, and he's feels like he's known since the moment they lay in the meadow together as children.

But knowing does not dull the blow that the realisation setting in deals him.

He knows, "Because if I don't, then nobody will."

━━━

besties i posted an inej ghafa fic yesterday titled CHOKEHOLD, and it features an oc of mine named mila van eck! feel free to check it out xxx