"Come on, Misha, what's up with you?"

Lounging against the counter of a somewhat seedy student's pub two young Russians were scolding a third one, a blue eyed, wavy haired blonde, who's handsome open face was rather flushed.

"All moony and mopey…you're no fun at all. And shouldn't you be going easy on that stuff?"

The older one, a sturdy fellow with an interesting Slavonic face and an easygoing, friendly manner tried to intercept the blonde's hand.

"Mikhail Arbatov," the younger one, a sympathetic nerdy guy with horn rimmed glasses said urgently, "Alexej may have tuned you out early, but I didn't manage, and hey…"

The blonde avoided Alexej's hand and raised his glass, filled with what might have been clear water, but actually was vodka. With the persistence of a soviet tank he continued his monologue, which concerned a classmate of the three of them in History of Art. His friends had a very good idea who he was talking about, and were beginning to exchange significant glances. How the hell to stop their friend's … um … indiscretions? At least he hadn't mentioned any name yet…

"Liu Fei Long. The name in itself is a poem, and that guy…now have you ever seen him naked?"

"Um Misha…!"

"Hey wait a minute!"

Both of them spoke at once. It felt really hot in the pub now, and the blonde young Russian just ploughed on, working himself up into a boozy rant, not noticing or caring how uneasy his companions had become, even tense…

"You know, that angel's face, you would expect a real sissy body…", Mikhail swigged down another shot of vodka and continued even louder,

"I did, anyway." He chuckled drunkenly. "Ever since he came slinking up in class, so fucking mysterious, letting his niagara fall of black black hair cascade all over that sinful slit eyed…vision…doing all those crappy kung fu moves - "

"Hey! Would you look out! You got your stinking soviet swill all over my new antique leather jacket!"

"You", Mikhail turned around a bit to regal the person who had wedged in between to get to the counter, " make up your mind," he wagged his index finger, "is that rag antique or new", he was slurring his words, his audience rather silent by now … "contradictory messages are sooo over…"

The antique leather jacket backed off hastily, possibly worried something worse than vodka might erupt all over his eye's apple, causing the person on the bar stool beside him to swim into view.

"Umm, wait a minute, aren't you in that class too?" The young Russian swung round all the way, abruptly alerted out of his boozy stupor, straining to focus through the hazy atmosphere of the bar.

His neighbour was a sombre, masculine figure in a pale trench coat, with an aura of quiet power, appearing slightly out of place in this pub frequented mostly by students in their twenties.

"Yes, you are!" Mikhail stared. "But you are always silent, not like that Feilong, who's" , now he sounded - pissed off? " who's … also, like, clever?!" … he shook his head. "Always the witty comeback … and his type ought to be shy! Or at least laid back! It's wayyy too much going on for one single guy … and that isn't even counting his body, which I did get a look at today at the public pool, I can tell you, but that was a surprise .. " …. he twitched a little as if to shrug off some fly …. "hands off! Why are you nudging me, Alexej? And you Pjotr, what is your shoe doing at my shin? Get away with you … no, not you" - to the trench coat - "you can stay, at least you're keeping your great lumbering body off of …." he suddenly trailed off, eyes widening. "Oh."

The compact, intense man was returning his gaze impassively. A realization sparked off in Mikhail's befuddled mind and, relentlessly, exploded into sober awareness.

"You. Are always. With Him."

Had he spoken out loud? He was already no longer really seeing the man in the trench coat, his visual focus having readjusted to the range that must include the space beside that irritating presence…

Time slowed down, a black vacuum with sparking electrons in it's periphery. Mikhail felt a rush in his ears and hardly noticed Alexej's hand steadying him when the pressure wave of electrical charge crashed against him -

"soooo… and what would you say to some hands on experience with my - what did you call them? - crappy! kung fu moves, dude…"

(to be continued)