Illya stared, dumbfounded, at Napoleon's retreating figure. He was still bewildered at Napoleon's sudden flip from cold to hot, then back to cold, but the one thought invading his mind is that he didn't want to see Napoleon leave again. At least he knew some part of Napoleon wanted him.

So he waited until he could barely see Napoleon and James, before he started following them, being sure to keep to the side of the walkway and in between trees. He had learned from a very early age that although he was tall, he knew how to avoid being the centre of attention.

After Illya's head was practically dusty with snowflakes, they finally reached Napoleon's building. Not once had Napoleon spared a glance behind his shoulder, so Illya was surprised when he heard him call out.

"Are you going to stay out in the cold or come in with me?"

As Illya emerged from the side of the building, he was met with a small smile and a whine from James.

"You knew I was following you," Illya said.

"Yes, years with the paparazzi tailing you will do that," Napoleon sighed. "You don't have to come up. I just thought you might prefer warming up instead of walking to wherever you are going."

"I'd like to come in," Illya said. "Should I expect any more surprise kisses?"

He immediately regretted his question when he saw the forlorn look on Napoleon's face.

"I'm sorry I did that, Illya," Napoleon said. "I hope you have a nice night."

He tugged at James Gordon's leash and Illya knew he had to speak up.

"Look, it was just a shock," Illya said, making Napoleon turn again.

Illya felt suddenly shy, but he wanted to put Napoleon at ease "To tell you the truth, I kind of… imagined it a bit over Christmas break."

He almost rolled his eyes at the smirk on Napoleon's face, proving why he didn't like to blurt out emotional statements, but was saved from agonizing over his vulnerability when Napoleon waved at him to follow.

"Come on," he said. "I make a mean truffle risotto."

Luckily, Napoleon had all of the ingredients in his kitchen and having made the recipe so many times, was able to stand calmly by the stove, James Gordon resting near him. Both his and James' eyes followed Illya as he fidgeted at the kitchen table, before playing with the salt-and-pepper shakers when Napoleon declined his help.

He later migrated into the living room, examining each of the items, little knick-knacks and pictures Napoleon didn't even spare a thought over anymore. His hand was hovering over an ebony antique chess set when Napoleon called out that dinner was ready.

"This is good, Cowboy," Illya said, after he had eaten half of his share, Napoleon lagging slightly behind.

"Thank you," Napoleon replied, unable to stop staring as Illya's pink lips wrapped around his fork. He cleared his throat when Illya finished and gestured toward Napoleon's plate.

"You going to finish?"

"Yes," Napoleon shook his head slightly, turning back to his own food. "Feel free to have seconds."

The warmth spreading through him had nothing to do with the hot food, though, as he watched Illya go back to the stovetop. While it might have been impractical to invite an almost stranger into his penthouse, he felt he was both thanking Illya for all his help during the plane ride and making up for his previous error.

Illya started eating a bit slower during his second plate.

"You seem to appreciate good food, Peril," Napoleon said, crossing his knife and fork.

Illya swallowed. "Yes. Gaby and I tried something like this before, during first week in New York. She claimed it smelled like feet, so I tend to try fine dining alone…when I can afford it."

Napoleon felt himself grow even fonder of Illya at that little admission. He probably had guessed Napoleon knew he didn't have as much money as Napoleon did, but didn't feel the need to hide that fact.

"Are you and Gaby close?" Napoleon said, unsure of their relationship. She had insisted on the coffee, but if there was anything between those two or any hint of something starting, he would back off.

"Yes," Illya moved to take Napoleon's plate. "We dated, but now she is best friend." The dishes clanked together as Illya started the water and found the soap. "We both miss home."

As if he could sense Illya's homesickness, James Gordon emerged from under the table and padded over to the sink, nudging at Illya's leg until Illya turned to pet him.

"He is nice dog," Illya said, abandoning the dishes as he continued to crouch down, Napoleon joining him soon after.

"He actually used to be part of a school reading program when he was first a puppy," Napoleon said, laughing a little as James wagged his tail. "Extremely well-mannered and would let the kids read him anything. Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for me, his owner had to leave the country, so I took up the training."

"He's been a great help to you," Illya said, looking at Napoleon instead of the dog.

Coughing, Napoleon looked away from Illya's concentrated stare.

"How about I finish up the dishes and you wait in the living room? I saw you eyeing that chess set," Napoleon said, moving away from the subject at hand.

"You play?" If possible, Illya's eyes lit up even more then when he was letting James cuddle up to him.

"It's been a few years, but I think I can hold my own."

Illya beat Napoleon five times, before Napoleon threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Why aren't you a professional player?" Napoleon said, setting the pieces back in their original positions. Illya was still staring intently at the board like he was already mapping out which moves Napoleon would use during their next match. Napoleon decided to throw him off by standing. There was a deck of cards tucked away in the bookshelf, but when Napoleon headed back to the table, Illya was once again looking around at the room.

When he stopped at one particular picture, Napoleon's heart jolted.

"Is this your mother?" The frame Illya was staring at contained a snapshot of Napoleon in front of an airplane with a dark-haired woman, her arms wrapped around Napoleon.

He knew the picture well as it was taken a week before she died.

"Yes." A clipped answer was all Illya got.

"Hmm," Illya said, unperturbed. "She looks like you."

A lump grew in Napoleon's throat as images came flooding back that he usually tried to block out. Strangers often made the same statement, especially when they travelled together in the warm summers, his dad sometimes tagging along on their adventures when he wasn't working. He thought his mom looked better than him though, her dark curly hair always blowing in the wind, as she laughed, eager to explore the city, country and sky.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear Illya's next question, but he felt his hand on his shoulder.

"Napoleon?"

He could only look into Illya's pale eyes for his second, noting his cheeks were a bit red, before glancing down. They were the most striking eyes, filled with intense compassion.

"I miss her," Napoleon said as way of explanation. His eyes followed Illya's fingers, brow furling as they started to stroke the worn-out wrapped around Illya's wrist.

"We should go out," Illya said.

"I thought that's what were doing," Napoleon joked, relieved they were done talking about the picture. "Or do you insist on dancing after dinner."

"I do not dance," Illya grumbled. Napoleon stored the thought away, before he thought of the gift in his jacket.

"Let's go see a movie instead."

It was an amusing trip to the theatre as Napoleon argued that they should see the latest superhero movie while Illya insisted on a foreign-language feature, which had received great reviews. Both were convinced their movie was the best option, Illya even crossing his arms the entire subway ride while making his point.

In the end, Napoleon conceded, reasoning that if this movie date went well, they could see the superhero flick another time. Illya's smile when he won the argument was also worth it and Napoleon found himself grinning too as they held hands starting 10 minutes after the trailers.

People rushed around them down the wet street when they finally exited the theatre, hands still linked. Napoleon insisted he take Illya back to his apartment in Bushwick, so they found themselves on the platform, waiting for the late train to come pick them up. Illya had rejected Napoleon calling a car and Napoleon found he didn't mind standing close to him instead of being wary of his driver in the front seat.

"Would it be ok if I kissed you?" Illya asked, breaking through the sounds of late night murmurings and obnoxious music coming from one guy's cellphone. Asking was his way of controlling the situation, Napoleon figured, instead of being blindsided when Napoleon pecked him on the lips. It was a smart move and Napoleon pushed away the same he felt at his earlier actions.

Illya's tall stature meant he had a bend a little to meet Napoleon, but they found each other easily, lips moving together, eyes closed as Illya's mouth parted, Napoleon exploring with his tongue. His hands found Illya's short hair, Illya's hands wandering down his thick jacket.

They missed two passing trains and the sound of a camera going off behind them.