Illya had a temper.
They all knew it, and Napoleon did his best, and the Russian couldn't tell, to not anger his partner.
Yet, after seeing a movie, that both Napoleon and Gaby enjoyed, there was nothing that didn't anger him.
"Are you hungry?" The dark hair girl asked, looking at the pair.
Illya didn't even attempt to respond, instead voting to ignore the question entirely.
"I'm hungry, Peril?" Illya looked at his partner, who was looking devastatingly handsome with a bow tie.
"I am not hungry, but feel free to please yourselves. I'm going home." The Russian turned on his heel and marched away.
Napoleon called him not ten minutes after he got home.
"Peril, what's wrong?" Rolling his eyes, Illya glanced around the apartment.
He had on every single light.
The movie had been scary, and Illya hated horror movies. He despised them from the very bottom of his soul.
Illya was a jumpy person, trained to fight and never be snuck up on. The movies always triggered instincts that he would rather not have false alarmed.
Jump scare after jump scare left him feeling more insecurity. Not only did he lose his sense of safety, he lost his sense of trust. Every horror movie Napoleon and Gaby forced him to watch, then more he didn't want to talk to either of them.
"Nothing, Cowboy. Go back to your dinner."
Napoleon hadn't gone. Gaby had picked up a friend, and left him to walk home alone.
"Peril, you can talk to me. I'm your partner."
"You force me to do things I do not want. Now you force me to talk. Where will this end?" He was tense, pacing about the room. Why had he said that?
"Illya...do you not like scary movies?"
He froze, not only at Napoleon calling him his actual name, but at the fact that he could see Illya's fear.
"Of course I like them. I like them because you- and Gaby, like them." He snapped, seemingly irritated at being questioned.
"No, Peril." He could practically hear his Cowboy roll his eyes. "Do you like them? Not because Gabby and I like them, but do you enjoy watching them?"
Illya's nose twitches anxiety, and he stood stalk still, heating feet come down the hall of their apartment complex, just outside their door.
"Illya, unlock the door, you overly paranoid Russian."
He let out a sigh of relief, unlocking the door to Napoleon.
"I thought you were a burglar." He said, his face showing the clear distress.
"You think everyone's a burglar." Napoleon chuckled, patting his partner on the chest.
"So, about that movie." Solo pressed. "Did you like it?"
Sighing, Illya shook his head, watching Napoleon shrug off his coat to hang it up.
"No, Cowboy. I didn't."
Napoleon looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"Didn't think so. You looked genuinely uncomfortable throughout the whole thing. You also crushed my hand with your incessant squeezing."
Illya cringed, despising himself for that little fact.
Midway through the movie, Napoleon had slipped his hand into Illya's a comforting gesture that had calmed him more than he cared to admit.
Illya didn't quite understand why it was that Napoleon had such an..outstanding effect on him.
The tingle that still radiated from his palm was a present reminder of why exactly he had agreed to go to the movie in the first place.
"I apologize. I don't happen to enjoy having my wits tested by fictional horrors." Illya said, a hostile edge to his voice.
Napoleon rolled his eyes.
"You were scared. That's why the lights are on."
Illya looked around the apartment sheepishly, remembering slowly that all of the lights, even the flashlights, and Solo kept a lot of those, were on.
"You're right, I'm not a fan of the dark. This proves nothing."
Another eye roll, and then Napoleon said, "BOO!"
Illya yelped, startled.
After the realization that his partner had scared him, he scowled angrily, forcing down the racing of his heart.
Chuckling, Napoleon picked the hat Illya usually wore off the table. "I'm sorry, that was awful of me."
Shaking his head, Illya turned and headed towards his room, irritation simmering beneath the surface of his skin.
"Peril, come back. I'm sorry, okay?" Napoleon called, walking after his partner. "Illya-" Solo caught his partners wrist as it was on the door handle.
This hallway was brightly lit, with tacky wallpaper, but that didn't matter because Gaby liked it. The photos on the walls were of them, in Berlin, in Venice, in Tokyo.
Frame after frame led to the end of the hall, where they now stood, and when Napoleon felt the first of his partners real fear.
"You're heart's beating unnecessarily fast." He noted, and Illya jerked out of his grasp, and into his room.
It was dark.
Above all, it was pitch black and Illya pressed himself to the door, chest constricting.
"Illya? Peril, open the door." The concerned voice of his partner couldn't shake him from his thoughts, which took him to Russian, in his training facility.
It was dark in one of their rooms. So heartbreakingly dark.
Illya had never been fond of such things, instead rooting for having lights in as he slept.
Yet, this was training and he was to do as he was told.
Blackness was around him, as he groped for walls, bumping into others, and found what felt like a handle, and pulled it open.
This led to more darkness, yet it felt like he was being sucked in, pulled into whatever this unknown force was.
He could barely hear of his own racing heart, yet faintly, he could make out he wind.
People gathered around him, wondering what was there, and only made present by their voice and warmth.
"What is it?" "Why'd it get cold all of a sud'n?" "Close that damn door!"
And suddenly, Illya was pushed through the threshold, and put into silent, black abyss.
"Illya! Open the door!" Napoleon was shouting now, his voice traveling and bringing him back to the present.
What was happening? What was it so..dark?
Where was the light?
Napoleon was practically screaming at him, but it was fault and distant, like the sun in the dark room.
Things couldn't have been any darker, and slowly, Illya tried to peel his eyes open, only to find that they were already.
"What's going on?"
The voice of Gaby came to him also, but he could see nothing, feel nothing, and it was as if he was floating in the abyss.