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ethereousdelirious · 11 months

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Hee hee, got my first Bu.ngou fic here! Thanks to @onetrickponi for the excellent prompts; this will be one of many

First up, we have N.ikolai deliberately inducing an allergic reaction in S.igma because he's a little shit (affectionate). And also Fy.odor is there.

Word count: 2.5k

Note on honorifics/diminutives (tho admittedly I may be the only person who cares): I went with "Fed.ya" over "Dos-kun"/"Dost.oy" even though it's fanon and more familiar than those 2 because I find it cuter. Same for using "dear"/"sweet Sig.ma" instead of "Sig.ma-kun"/"Sig.gy" (also fanon).

Final remarks: As always, my first work in any fandom is inevitably a lil shaky. That being said, I'm pleased with this one! Still, pls be gracious 🥺

Sigma sparkled.

He had no other choice.

Not with so many eyes on him, not with Nikolai grinning expectantly and bouncing on his toes.

Not with Fyodor, beatific and subordinate, watching. His smile reached his eyes but still bore the quality of the serpent— concealing venom.

So Sigma sparkled and gleamed and held his champagne flute with careful fingers, flitting from corner to corner to cast his gentle light upon the guests.

Nikolai rocked on his toes, watching the bubbles rise in Sigma's glass. "Fedya," he said, abandoning his own glass on an unused roulette table, "want to play a game?"

"A game?" Fyodor narrowed his eyes, reharmonizing his smile to a more malicious tune. "At dear Sigma's expense, if I'm not mistaken?" It was impossible to miss at this proximity: Nikolai's fidgeting, his fixation on Sigma, the intermittent twitch of his lips.

Nikolai turned with a wide eye, fingers splayed toward his mouth in an affectation of innocence. "You really are too sharp." His teeth gleamed in the golden chandelier-light. "I won't hurt him, if you're worried about that."

"How reassuring." Fyodor had a tendency toward darting irises, always scanning without turning his head. Now, he fixed his gaze on Nikolai. "What manner of game did you have in mind?"

"It's simple! All you have to do is follow my instructions. Three commands. Sound good?"

"Follow your next three commands," Fyodor repeated thoughtfully. "Alright. Let's play."

"Wonderful!" Nikolai clapped his hands. No one in the room paid him any mind, the sound lost in the murmur of a hundred quiet conversations. "First command: beckon dear Mr Manager over to us. He'll come if you call."

"He will."

Catching Sigma's eye was a simple matter of staring at him until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Fyodor and Nikolai watched him shudder and glance over at them, confusion giving way to curiosity. Fyodor crooked his finger and tilted his chin and Sigma came running like a dog.

He almost forgot to excuse himself from the conversation at hand, almost tripped over his own halted momentum.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, looking rapidly between Fyodor and Nikolai.

"We're playing a game!" Nikolai said, rocking up on his toes. "Fedya has to follow three of my commands."

Sigma scowled and crossed his arms, deftly transferring his champagne flute to his left hand to avoid spilling. "What does this have to do with me?"

"You'll see!" Nikolai motioned for Sigma's champagne. "Cover your ears."

With a world-weary sigh, Sigma passed it over and covered his ears.

Nikolai leaned into Fyodor. "Now make him finish his drink."

Fyodor's eyes flashed. He motioned for Sigma to uncover his ears.

"Was that a command?" Sigma asked warily.

"Don't worry so much, Sigma!" Fyodor laughed lightly and liberated Sigma's champagne from Nikolai, passing it over carefully to avoid brushing fingers. "This is a special night, isn't it? You shouldn't be so uptight."

"Isn't it my job to be uptight?"

"I think you're well within your rights to relax a little." Fyodor raised his own untouched glass and his eyes flashed violet. "To 13 years, yes?"

Nikolai repeated the sentiment in Russian, after which Sigma muttered a half-hearted "cheers," and touched the glass to his lips.

Fyodor's eyes flashed again. "I'm sure you've noticed," he said, "that some of these champagne glasses have a small flaw in the base."

Sigma's eyes widened. "What?"

"Here, where the stem meets the bowl." Fyodor held his glass up to the light. "You can see it more clearly from the other side of the glass."

"Ah." Sigma looked at their glasses in turn and, seeing them all relatively full, paused. Faltered. "Ah," he said again."Should- should I…?"

"Bottoms up," Nikolai urged.

Still, Sigma hesitated, searching.

Fyodor nodded.

Light flashed off the glass. Sigma's hair fluttered, a few white strands landing across the bridge of his nose. Sweet champagne put a shine on his lower lip when he'd emptied the glass and he held it up like a telescope, examining it in the light. "I- I do see something," he said. "A little scratch."

"Just so," Fyodor agreed.

"Sweet Sigma is all pink," Nikolai observed cheerfully, and he traced a gloved hand over Sigma's cheek.

Sigma had indeed flushed a delicate pink from his cheeks to his forehead. Nikolai's finger brushed his nose and he sniffed with some difficulty, his breaths coming audible through his nose. He looked at Nikolai through his lashes, brow furrowed, but didn't speak.

"Well," said Fyodor mildly, "you can decide if it's worth spending the money to replace the glasses over such a small flaw."

Sigma drew in another breath with visible difficulty, his brow furrowing deeper. "Of course."

Fyodor glanced at Nikolai, who made a passing attempt to stifle a giggle behind his hand. "Sigma, are you feeling alright? You do look flushed."

"Yes, I'm f—" Here, Sigma's breath caught. He inhaled shallowly once, twice, eyelids fluttering. "Hhp'ksSCH! Ah…"

Nikolai wiggled his fingers and blessed him in Russian, making no effort to hide his glee.

"Yes, be healthy," Fyodor agreed. "Isn't it about time you made your statement?"

"Ah, is it..?" Sigma's expression was one of innocent distress; he'd discerned nothing of Nikolai's little joke at his expense. Every consonant dulled in the narrow passageways of irritated sinuses. He sniffed to no avail and buried his face in his sleeve. "'hkTSCH!" The force of the motion rocked him forward and he staggered back a half-step to find his balance.

A few wandering eyes found him and lingered, entranced by the display. None of the casino staff and certainly none of the regulars had seen their steadfast manager in such a state before. Several conversations gave way to murmurs and darting eyes.

"AHP'TSCH!" With his face firmly ensconced in the crook of his elbow, ears blocked with congestion, Sigma perceived none of it. Nikolai, taking pity on him, caught him by the shoulder to steady him as he continued to teeter between toes and heels. "Hhk'phSCH!"

It was Fyodor who delivered the fatal blow, his eyes gleaming. "My goodness, Sigma. Perhaps you'd better step down for the evening and let someone more equipped give the speech."

"No!" Sigma blinked the tears out of his eyes and swiped his hair out of his face and didn't seem to realize how hard he had to lean into Nikolai just to stay balanced. "I'll handle this."

He straightened his tailcoat and strode away with his jaw set, not even slowing down when he nearly walked into a poker table.

For a moment, Nikolai and Fyodor stood in silence, watching Sigma until he disappeared into the crowd.

On the stage, the empty lectern loomed. The light of an anglerfish awaiting its prey.

"Final command," Nikolai sang. "I'll even give you a choice: You can guess what I did to dear Sigma or you can spin around on your heel and clap like a flamenco dancer."

"I'd hardly have to guess," Fyodor said, "but I think you've doled out enough humiliation for one night."

"Go on, then."

"It's quite simple." Fyodor nodded at his own untouched champagne flute. "Sigma is allergic to sulfites. Knowing this, you used me to get him to finish his drink, thus inducing a reaction. A rather violent one, too."

"To what end?" Nikolai prompted, sing-song.

"Why, to liven up his speech, of course."

"That's correct!" Nikolai gestured wildly, vaguely congratulatory.

They both turned to the stage when the lights dimmed, calling everyone's attention to the spotlight beaming on the empty lectern.

"Now we watch the show," Nikolai whispered.

The spotlight rendered Sigma a washed-out blur but for the high spots of red on his cheeks. He gripped the lectern with both hands, knuckles white. It was only this that rendered him some sort of stability on the small island of the podium, adrift in a sea of expectant faces. "Hello, everyone."

He kept his face the perfect distance from the microphone. No feedback screech split the air, no faint syllables dying in his airspace. His voice sounded through the speaker, perfectly clear.

It threw his congestion into sharp relief, highlighting every dulled nasal sound and every breathy exhale.

Nikolai shimmied in place.

"Please allow me to officially welcome to you to the Sky Casino," Sigma continued.

"He won't make it through this sentence," Fyodor said, his gaze fixed on Sigma. He had seen the usual tells (shallow breaths, parted lips, twitching nose), but he had also seen something uniquely Sigma in the draw of his brow and the set to his jaw.

"We're here tonight—" Sigma shut his mouth abruptly, drawing his brows down so far it made the bridge of his nose crinkle in response. "Hhk'psSH!"

Covering the sneeze necessitated letting go of the lectern with one hand and he rocked onto his toes with the explosion of air from his lungs, tensing at the middle.

A deadly silence fell and the room teetered on a razor-sharp edge before Sigma caught himself and, with a shaky smile, rallied.

"Excuse me." He shook his head, sniffled. "We are here tonight to celebrate the 13th anniversary— hk'TSCH!"

This one caught even Fyodor off guard; he turned to Nikolai with eyebrows raised.

Nikolai clamped both hands over his mouth, shaking with silent laughter

"—of this institution," Sigma continued in a thin voice. "The Sky Casino represents what humanity can achieve when, ahh, when everyone comes together in pursuit of a c…"

Nikolai elbowed Fyodor in the ribs.

"A common– hhkpt'ssCHt! Ah…" Sigma's eyes fell shut for a moment too long and he slumped against the lectern, bracing his elbows against it. Every shallow breath scraped across the microphone and broadcast itself through the speakers. The next sneeze pounced on him before he could so much as open his eyes, driving his head forward toward the waiting microphone:

"Ahk'SCHUH!"

The sound exploded through the speakers, echoing with feedback, and Nikolai titled his head back and cackled.

This was not as conspicuous as it might have been, given that a rush of whispers and murmurs had broken out amongst the crowd:

Oh my, is he alright?

Hw's clearly ill. Look how red his face is!

Overdone it on the liquor, I think.

Can't someone take over for him?

But Sigma had not yet reached the end of his indefatigable will. Taking advantage of the distraction, he scrubbed his palm down the bridge of his nose and applied pressure to the center of his forehead, forcing down the ever-present burn in his sinuses.

"Please," Sigma said firmly, quieting the whispers, "join me in celebrating 13 years. Cheers."

"Cheers!"

He strode offstage with his head up and, tucking himself away behind an unused speaker, put his head in his hands. The deadly combination of alcohol and anxiety made his heart hammer like it might give out. One final, painful squeeze and it would cease forever. He leaned against the speaker and groaned and the sound buzzed in the choked-out tunnels of his swollen sinuses. "Hpt'tSCHK!"

Nikolai landed atop the speaker with a flash of his cape. "Gesundheit!"

Sigma cringed and stood up straight despite the protest from his abused ribs. "Gogol," he said warily, eyes darting for any sign of Fyodor.

Nikolai sat and let his legs dangle. "That was quite the show! I have to say, I'm a little jealous."

"Well, then, why don't you sniff some pepper before your disappearing act?" Sigma said drily, rubbing his forehead. He'd meant to spend a few minutes gathering his composure, but Nikolai's presence had thrown a wrench into that plan. A wrench and several colorful juggling balls.

Nikolai made a show of contemplating this, only stopping when he noticed Sigma still standing with his head in his hands. "Aw, is poor Sigma not feeling well?"

"It's fine," Sigma said into his palms. "It's— hk'sSH! Oh…" Sigma dug the heels of his hands into his temples before letting them drop and standing up straight. "It's fine. I have to go." Scarcely waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode back into the crows to mingle.

"Bye-bye," Nikolai called after him. "Be healthy!"

"Hhkp'SCH!"

Omake:

Nikolai toyed with his empty champagne flute, holding it up to his good eye and rotating it like a kaleidoscope. "Hey, Fedya?"

"Yes?"

"How did you know Sigma's glass would have a flaw in it?"

"Oh, that?" Fyodor leaned back against the roulette table. "It didn't."

"Whaaaat?" Nikolai cocked his head, over-exaggerating his shock as only a performer could. "But dear Sigma said…!"

"Sigma saw exactly what I suggested he might see," Fyodor said. "Or, you could say, he saw what he wanted to see."

"But why would he want to see a flaw?"

"Because, to the ordinary man, there is nothing so boring as perfection and nothing as exciting as improvement."

"I see." Nikolai wet his fingertip and began to run it around the rim off the glass. It stuttered as he worked out the appropriate level of tension, a high, jerky noise emanating at the points of contact. "You knew my plan all along, didn't you?"

Fyodor smiled, pale lips stretching and paling further. "You're asking me to reveal an awful lot of secrets, Nikolai."

"Yes, but you're not a grand sorcerer!" Nikolai thrust his hand through his cape and flicked his glass so it rang like a bell. "So it's fair to ask, you know."

"Fine, but you may regret it." Fyodor tucked a wayward lock of hair behind his ear. "Yes, I did know."

"But how?"

"First, we must acknowledge that sulfites are not the cause of most negative reactions to wine, but unidentified preservatives. It's more common to use 'sulfites' as shorthand despite the inaccuracy, so I do hope you'll excuse myself saying so earlier."

Nikolai blinked and nodded, already drumming his fingers against his hip.

"Second, consider that the makers of fine wines could never get away with adding preservatives that would induce a negative reaction in their customers— Their reputation would suffer."

"Suffer," Nikolai repeated contemplatively.

"Third" —Fyodor lifted his glass, still full to the top with champagne— "observe the size of the bubbles in the glass. They're about the size of Siberian caviar, wouldn't you say?"

Nikolai peered at the glass. Streams of bubbles rose to the surface, large and slow in their descent. "Yes, I think so."

"This is cheap sparkling wine," Fyodor said. "Hardly worth drinking." He set the glass aside again and let his hands rest on the table. "Knowing those three facts, the context of the situation, as well as the fact that you have spent a significant amount of time in Sigma's company, it was the simplest conclusion to draw."

"Hmph." Nikolai crossed his arms. "Someday, Fedya, I'll find a way to surprise you."

#snz #ethereous writes #snez #snzfic #waaaahhh im nervous abt this one ngl #*bites nails*

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