His left eyelid twitched when he fell in the driver's seat. Boris had told him that it was only fair if they took turns driving. He had tried to laugh but it had come out hollow. A moment later the uncomfortable silence sank down on them again like it had never been gone.

Otabek started the car and pulled out of the parking lot like on autopilot. The aftershocks of what they had seen in the apartment weren't easy to deal with. They clung to the both of them like a second skin. Otabek could only get the smell out of his nose when Boris lit a cigarette and the scent filled the car like incense in a church.

Then he fished his phone out of the pocket and made a call. Otabek listened carefully but couldn't hear the other voice. It must be the cleaners he had mentioned before.

"It's Boris. We found Sergej. He's in his apartment, has been there for some times by the smell of what's left of him. ...Yes, looks like he choked on his puke. …Just get the place clean by tomorrow so the neighbors don't call anyone else. He makes the building stink even worse. I'll tell Aljosha you guys are on the job. Just don't worry about the bullet, that's one of ours. … Alright, thanks. Have a nice one." With a sigh he ended the call and leaned back into the seat.

"So, they're gonna pick him up tonight?", Otabek asked.

Boris shrugged. "I guess so. Danya said they're short on staff but if they want to spare the trouble with some hysteric neighbors they really should get the shit done soon. I wonder why nobody noticed the stench earlier anyway. They'll prolly set the place on fire and get the insurance money on top of their fee." He huffed. "Noone's gonna miss the shit we've seen in there."

Otabek's grip around the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white under the skin.

Boris tossed the cigarette stump out of the window and lit another one immediately. "I knew he had a thing for Katyusha, but that…" He shook his head.

"You did?" It was hard not to growl.

"Yeah, everyone knew. I mean who doesn't have a thing for Katyusha? The boy is gorgeous. And it seemed natural that Sergej in particular would come to like him, they spent a lot of time together. Sergej was practically Katyusha's babysitter. Picking him up from the club and making sure he arrives home unharmed, being there for him whenever the boy calls… Seriously, I have seen the shoes the boy wears for clubbing, it's a wonder he hasn't broken his legs yet when he's wrecked from booze and coke. Imagine having this adorable little kitten relying on you walking over to the front door, all giggly and soft. Hard to resist, right? And Sergej did ask for the job." A sarcastic laugh escaped Boris' throat. "Now I see why he did that. What a disgusting bastard."

Otabek remained silent, pondering. Boris was right, it looked like Sergej had applied for the job specifically to be close to Yuri. And it was a convenient position for a stalker like he appeared to have been. Without a doubt he had spent more time together with Yuri than most other people: only the two of them. Yuri most likely more often than not in a certain state of intoxication, vulnerable, trusting, his guards down in the company of a man he deemed a protector. The thought was as scary as it was logic. Sergej had had access to Yuri when the boy was utterly defenseless. Sergej himself had been supposed to be his defense after all. That he had been so obsessed with Yuri - and there was no other word than obsession considering what Sergej had collected in his room - only raised suspicion if or rather to what extent he had tried to take advantage of Yuri. Not that Yuri was per se easy prey, but depending on how he was affected by alcohol or drugs, or even a combination of both, scenarios like from the prints he had just seen made Otabek's jaw clench. Of course he didn't know for sure if Sergej had been aggressive enough to cross that line. It was entirely possible though. An idea like from a nightmare.

"Aljosha, it's Boris", Otabek heard his colleagues say on the phone again. "Remember when I said that I'd spit on Sergej's grave if he's dead? Guess what, that's today..."

с

"You're insane."

Otabek frowned, huffing a laugh. "Yeah, maybe. But I need to know."

"You're insane for going back there. You don't do that because you 'need to know'. You do it because you want to torture yourself. You do it because you feel guilty."

"I am."

"You are. This is all your fault, you know that and he knows it too. He went through all this because of you. For you. And you have every right to feel guilty. But don't come up with those cheap excuses like 'I need to know'. You don't. You know more than is good for you. You're going crazy, right now. And still you want to suffer. Because it's the only thing that makes you not kill everyone. You want to be in pain."

"I owe him that much."

"That's bullshit. You have to save him, that's all he needs."

"I can't. He doesn't want me to."

Erasyl rolled his eyes. "He does. He just didn't realize yet. And you need him."

"I need him."

"You need so you can breathe. You need him so your heart can beat. You need him so you can fall asleep and wake up again. That's what he does for you. He doesn't see it. But you can show him."

"He doesn't love me like I love him."

"Is that so?"

"He said that to me back then. That he couldn't bear it anymore. The way I was close to him. I misunderstood. He never loved me like I love him."

"He loves you enough to accept your feelings. And you are fully aware of it. Your feelings are not the problem. His feelings are not the problem. The system is the problem. His new life is the problem. Daddy is the problem."

Otabek grit his teeth. "I can't take that from him. He wants this."

"Only because he doesn't know what you can give him."

"And risk our lives."

"Because it's so worth living like this!" Erasyl chuckled bitterly. "You're a freak, Otabek. You're driving yourself insane. You're losing your fucking mind. And you still continue hurting yourself. You go there and confront yourself with this nightmare that you know will haunt you for the rest of your life."

"I need to know." Otabek put on the helmet, swung his leg over the bike.

"You could ask him."

"I don't want to hurt him."

"You mistrust him. You think he might not tell the truth."

"I don't want to hurt him." He started the engine. The Ducati came to life with a low, beastly growl. He steered it out on the main street, then kicked in the gears higher and higher.

Erasyl's voice had become low. "You want to hurt yourself. Better you than him, right? You're some sick bastard. You're insane."

Otabek didn't answer. There was no point in arguing with the voice in his head anyway. His own voice. He needed to know if his suspicion turned out the truth. Even if it meant to go back there to Sergej's room and look through the pictures, all of them, one by one. Every single one. It was okay if he lost his mind on the way. He just wanted to know the truth.

Erasyl in his head kept quiet for the rest of the ride. In the end Otabek wasn't sure if it had ever been there.

On the bike the way over to Chertanovo Yuzhnoye District took not even an hour. Sun was setting invisible behind the gray clouds that only darkened in color as he took the highway south. By the time he arrived at the old building it wasn't even dark really.

With a little relief Otabek noticed that there was no smoke and no firefighters to be seen. He had been afraid that Danya, the guy who organized the cleanings on behalf of the bratva, and his staff could have arrived early and set the apartment on fire already. Boris had explained that they were short on staff but the possibility that there could be a way Danya and his people could arrive early and destroy any evidence of Sergej's existence had worried Otabek. In the end he had not even had the time to properly think this through but had hurried to make it in time before everything would be gone.

He parked the bike a little down the street in front of a grocery shop where it wasn't so likely to be stolen, then with helmet in hand and the arms of his jacket and shirt rolled up to leave the tattoo visible went inside to buy a pack of cigarettes. The man behind the counter seemed to make the connection between his tattoo and the bike and behaved very friendly. That way Otabek could be sure that if his bike was stolen the clerk would inform him about the thieves to stay out of trouble with a man of the well-respected vor. What Otabek only had heard about was proved now: Orlov's men were treated with utter respect anywhere.

He threw the pack of cigarettes away on the way to the Sergej's place.

The smell up there made his skin crawl even still some way from the door. To Otabek's surprise the door to the flat stood open. As he approached he heard some voices talking lively despite the surroundings.

Arriving at the door he found three men in white plastic onesies standing around a big dark blue body bag, smoking.

"If you're looking for the guy who lived here…", one of the guys said when he noticed Otabek, "well, he's still here but I doubt he'll invite you in." All three of them barked out laughter.

Otabek nodded, trying to grin. "I know, I found him earlier. Glad you're here to spare me the sight a second time."

"That's our job", another one said and nodded to his colleagues who finished their cigarettes and got ready to finish the job by putting rubber gloves on. "We'll take care of our friend here, so whatever business you have take your time we won't be back for two or three hours. Better to 'clean up' sites at night anyway." With that they heaved up the corpse and were gone a moment later.

After the door fell shut behind them Otabek went over to open the window for some fresh air, then looked around. Now that the corpse was gone and the lights on the place looked entirely different. The spot where Sergej had died was stained in different disgusting shades and the chaos of prints on the floor and wall had it's own horror.

Frowning Otabek began what he had come here for.

It had only dawned to him when he had been under the shower, rubbing his skin sore to make the feeling go away that he had not gotten rid off on the way home. The water had been way too hot, leaving his arms and chest dappled in reddish spots. He had looked down at them in weird fascination as the eagle and the diamond on his lower arm changed color. Realization seeped in like the heat in his body, quick and painful: The tattoo had been there. On one of the photos he had seen in Sergej's flat, one of those he had picked up from the messy coffee table. It had shown Yuri laying on his stomach, from behind, his hair in long messy waves, his legs spread and covered in cum, the see-through pastel pink lingerie hiding nothing. And the Orlov crest sitting there on the small of his back, ugly and dark.

Otabek had steadied himself not to falter, pressing his hand against the shower's tiles.

Yuri had belonged to Orlov there already. He must have, the tattoo was proof of it. But it contradicted with what he had told Otabek back then, when he had explained how Orlov had taken him in and made him quit doing those videos. How Orlov had supposedly saved him from that.

How could it be? How did this photo exist if Yuri had been over with all this after he had become Orlov's personal toy. How could Sergej be in the possession of a photo like this? Had Yuri lied? The thought made Otabek want to throw up.

But maybe this wasn't true. Maybe he had imagined things. Maybe his mind played him a trick. Maybe he hadn't really seen this picture, his memories blurry once more.

He needed to know.

So here he was, standing right in the middle of the dirty, messy carpet. The cold wind that came through the window made the countless sheets of paper rustle spookily.

The cleaners had pushed the sofa and the coffee table aside to make their work easier. It had messed up the pictures even more, some had fallen onto the dark stains on the floor. likely when the men had carried the body outside. Otabek decided to first check the coffee table.

Although he didn't look at the photos he took from the table too long it was long enough to make him feel sick. He had only seen a few of the pictures earlier today. To systematically go through them now was torture, just like the voice in his head had said. To some of them Otabek could see the appeal: Yuri was beautiful and not all pictured were tasteless. Some showed the boy dressed in silk and lace posing on sheets as white as his skin. In one he just stood by an antique looking wooden table in black lingerie and high heels, his incredibly long legs breathtaking in the fishnet stockings. Another one had him kneeling on a rich blue carpet in a short but elegant white dress that made him look as innocent as an angel.

Those were the exception though. Otabek came across dozens of disgusting shots like those he had seen earlier already. He piled them up on the right side of the coffee table so he didn't have to look at any of the pictures twice. It was still terrible. It made him want to shoot all remaining 17 bullets from the Grach's magazine into Sergej's abominable head.

The photo he had seen turned out to have fallen from the table. Otabek stared at it for what felt like an eternity. It looked just like he had remembered. The thin pink material of the negligé pushed up to his ribs, the eagle inked into the skin just like Otabek had seen it himself in his apartment when Yuri had changed out of his wet clothes.

He didn't know what to do. Deep inside he probably had hoped that it wasn't true. That he had only imagined the photo and the tattoo on Yuri's back. But here it was, blurry and ripped at the edges, shaking like a leaf between his trembling fingers. Proof that Yuri had lied to him. It hurt so much.

He stood for minutes, fighting the tears back, then made a decision. He'd ask Yuri. There was nothing else he could do. He'd have to ask him and hope that Yuri wouldn't lie again. Hope that Yuri could trust him this time when only God knew why he had lied at him to begin with.

He put the photo in his pocket and left the flat behind. He'd gladly set the place on fire himself. It would feel like an expansion of the burning fear he felt inside.

я

Yuri couldn't come. He wrote so only seconds after Otabek had asked for a meeting in the secret chatroom.

91617050829: Sorry, can't. Busy with Anatolij. The weekend's packed, I'll write you soon.

Perhaps it was a good thing. It gave Otabek time to gradually calm down.

At first he had paced his room like a bear in a cage, the photo hidden under the suitcase that still sat in the same place since he had moved in here. It had taken him almost an hour after the message had been automatically deleted until he was able to think straight again.

He went to the gym to get out his emotions. He worked out like crazy, knowing from past experience that his body would hurt for days, but once more he didn't care. He was glad he could focus on something else than Yuri's cream white skin under lingerie as thin and pink as cherry blossoms. His wavy hair covering his face and shoulders like spilled sunshine. He forced himself into exhaustion, until all he could think of was how weak his knees felt, trying not to collapse.

When he arrived home he asked Boris for Maksim's phone number. On the way home he had spotted a place where he could take Zhenya for his birthday. Boris replied immediately, not sparing him a few additional messages about how happy he was that Otabek was such a nice person and so on.

Maksim took some time until he answered Otabek's message but said that he was okay with whatever Otabek had planned and that he was thankful that Otabek took care of his son.

и

The boy deserved a better birthday than the first of April, Otabek decided. It was painfully mean that he had been born blind as if destiny had played him a very, very macabre April's fool prank. From that moment on the boy's life and that of his family had not changed for the better. Giving birth to his sisters his mother had died, leaving his father over challenged and helpless with four children, the costs of the funeral and no money to employ a nanny to take care of the kids. Zhenya had spent all his life at home, in the small, old house that his parents had gotten when they had still been so happy and hopeful and excited about their future family. It must have been a pittoresque little house with a pretty little yard, the roof a bright orange and the windows decorated with embroidered curtains.

Now the yard was ragged, the roof sagging and the curtains more gray than white. It looked like it had been abandoned a few weeks ago somehow, empty and lonely and forgotten.

Otabek parked the bike and secured it, picked up the second helmet, then went to make his way to the front door and ring the bell. There had been a nameplate with a paper inlay but the ink was faded by the years, only some stains hinting that there had been a name once.

From the inside heavy steps were audible. Maksim opened the door with a relieved smile.

"Hey, brother", he said and stepped aside to let Otabek in.

"Hello", he replied. "How's it going?"

"The girls are asleep. Boris and Anka came over this morning, but they didn't stay long." Maksim gestured down the hallway that was cramped with children's shoes, a broomstick, toys, boxes and other rubbish that clearly didn't belong here but that no one had had the energy to take back to it's place. "I'm glad you texted me yesterday, I feel so bad for Zhenya, but I just can't leave the girls alone for too long, yanno."

"Don't mention it", Otabek said and gave Maksim the tiniest mile. "You haven't told him?"

Maksim grinned and nodded to the door handle at the end of the hallway. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It's not a surprise if you yell it through the entire fucking house!", a voice came from behind the door, muffled by the wood, but unmistakably Zhenya's.

Maksim frowned, probably about the swearword, but Otabek chuckled and pressed the door open.

Zhenya sat on the carpet in the living room in a white dress shirt and black corduroy trousers, his hair combed to the side in what looked like an attempt to look posh. He was covered in crumbs of the cake that was conveniently placed on the coffee table next to him, one half missing already. He looked annoyed and cute at the same time and Otabek couldn't help but grin.

"Surprise?", he said and Zhenya chuckled lowly.

"Not so much. That bike is loud as hell, too." He got up with impressive certainty and looked somewhat in their direction.

Otabek made sure to make some sounds as he approached the boy. "Happy birthday." He noticed Zhenya's smile widening and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Thanks." A blush showed on his cheeks and ears that peeked out between the thick strands of messy black hair. "You… you want cake? Anka made that. It's the best."

"Maybe later", Otabek replied. "I want to take you out if you like. I came up with something that you might enjoy, but I have to take you away you from the cake."

Zhenya's eyes started glowing. "What is it?"

"That's a surprise." He withdrew his hand from Zhenya's shoulder. "So, are you coming or not?"

"Bet your ass!", Zhenya grinned, earning a "Zhenya, be polite for once", from Maksim who still stood by the door but smiled saying it.

They had Zhenya exchange his shirt for a sweater and Maksim urged him into a thick red parka and a green scarf that made him look like a strawberry.

"Don't I need a beanie?", Zhenya asked irritated.

"Today you'll need this", he said. "Hold your hands out." When the boy did Otabek carefully placed the second helmet into Zhenya's hands. The boy gasped.

"We're taking the bike?"

"Exactly."

With a howl Zhenya jumped excitedly and hurried over to the front door. "Byes, Papa!", he exclaimed and was out of the house.

"I'll take good care of him", Otabek said to Maksim and turned to leave, stopping when Maksim called him back.

"Erasyl, wait." He stood by the hall stand and looked at Otabek awkwardly for a moment, then smiled a weird smile. "Hey, I just wanted to say… Thank you, okay? Maybe it's not much for you but… it helps a lot. So, thank you." There was something glittering in the father's eyes, but before Otabek could puzzle out if it was only the lighting in the hallway, Zhenya from outdoors crowed: "Erasyl, hurryyy!" Nodding at Maksim he left the house.

It was a little complicated to adjust the straps of the helmet that Otabek had picked up from the rental this morning, because Zhenya was really fidgety, but after some moments they managed and got on the bike. Otabek explained thoroughly that Zhenya had to hold onto him really close not to fall down the bike and the boy agreed eagerly. When Otabek kicked the first gap in and slowly drove onto the street Zhenya clung to his ribs so hard he had trouble breathing.

The boy got used to it after some minutes and let loose a little. Whenever they stopped at a red light though his fingers clenched in Otabek's jacket and it reminded him of Yuri's first ride with Otabek a lot. It was like a flashback that brought back the memories and feelings he had experienced in Barcelona. Yuri had been a year older than Zhenya was now, and maybe for the first time ever Otabek realized that Yuri had been way too mature back then. And that he had been way too mature himself. They had grown up so fast, Yuri like it or not, Otabek unwittingly. And now here they were, years later in Moscow, both adults more or less and both having never experienced what it really meant to be a child. He felt Zhenya's hands fisting his jacket when he stopped the bike in the parking lot. The boy was the same just under different circumstances. He wasn't allowed to be a child, didn't allow himself. Otabek could only hope that he could make Zhenya be a 14-year old even for not more than some hours.

He cut the engine and climbed from the Ducati.

Zhenya took the helmet off and smiled blissfully. "I love that bike", he said and held his hand out for Otabek to help him get on his feet again. He craned his neck when he noticed the unfamiliar surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Surprise", Otabek murmured. "Can I take your hand?"

Zhenya held his left out and let Otabek lead him to the entrance door, turning his head left and right to hear the voices of the people, the cars in the distance, some birds chirping.

They headed over to the counter and a young girl greeted them smiling. "Do you need rental shoes?", she asked and when Otabek nodded asked for their shoe size. Zhenya told him his with a confused frown.

The girl handed Otabek their respective sizes and a key for a locker where they could store away the helmets and their shoes. Otabek paid and thanked her politely.

"What is this place?", Zhenya inquired once again, but Otabek huffed a laugh. "You'll learn soon enough.

He put the helmet into the locker in the room next door and made Zhenya sit down on the wooden bench in the middle of the room. He could hear the low hum of music coming from the rink's speakers and couldn't deny that he got a little excited himself now.

"I'll change your shoes now", he announced and squatted down in front of Zhenya.

"What's that strange sound?"

Otabek followed Zhenya's look over to the door. Listening closely he could hear it too: the sound of blades gliding over ice.

"It's the ice", he said. It sounded longing even to himself.

"What?"

With a sad smile that of course Zhenya couldn't see he continued unlacing the boy's shoes and plucking them from his feet. Zhenya wore red socks with black cats on them.

"I guess I better tell you before you loose your patience", he murmured, putting Zhenya's boots aside and loosening the ties of the small pair of ice skates. "I came across this place yesterday on my way home. I had thought about what I could get you for your birthday, but when I saw this I thought you might like it." He put one skate over Zhenya's small foot and tied the laces carefully. "It's an ice rink. Where you can skate. I hope you'll like it."

"Ice skate?" Zhenya stared at him for a moment. "Erasyl", he then said very sternly. "I can not see."

"I know", he answered. "But you don't need to."

"Are you kidding me?"

Otabek looked up, his fingers stopping their work.

"I can't even walk out of my house without risking my life", Zhenya hissed, clearly upset. "How am I supposed to… to what? Ice skate? If this is a joke it's a really bad one!"

"Zhenya", Otabek murmured and took the boy's hands, making him flinch at the unexpected touch. "I'm serious. You can do this. I know it. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared!" He shook his head, then shrugged. "Or maybe I am scared, so what? I can't do that! I'm not like you, I'm not like anyone! I can't do normal things! And it's mean that you brought me here just to show my what I am not capable of..." He pulled his hands from Otabek's. "I would have never thought you were that kind of person…"

"Zhenya." The low sound of skates on ice accompanied his words. "I didn't bring you here to hurt you. I brought you here so you can see what you can do. Because I know you can. Maybe not right away and not without help, but this is what I'm here for. I want to help you. I'll take care of you. I'll show you that there is a way we can make this happen. All you need to do is to trust me." Zhenya hunched his shoulders, his eyes lowered. "Can you do that? Trust me?"

First Zhenya shrugged, biting his lip. Then he nodded slowly. "I can try."

Otabek smiled and took the other skate.

Stepping on the ice was like he woke up from a long, long sleep. The rink wasn't very crowded and the zamboni hadn't been out for some time, making it easier for Zhenya's first time.

Otabek led the boy onto the ice by both hands. "Don't be scared", he murmured, Zhenya stiff as a statue. "Relax. I'll lead you. If you fall I'll help you up."

"What if someone runs into me?"

"That won't happen. Everyone sees you're a beginner. They'll pay attention." That was the reason why Otabek had come up with the idea to start with. Everyone started from scratch on the ice. The first time was always very unfamiliar, no matter if you could see or not. Everyone was insecure. And the other people would notice that it was Zhenya's first time and keep their distance not to collide with the rookie. Right here and right now Zhenya was like everyone else.

"Try to press one foot against the ice to start skating", Otabek instructed Zhenya. "Don't be scared, I'll hold your hands, okay?"

Zhenya made a bubbling sound that could have been an affirmation or a curse and did as he was told. It was very hesitantly, but his left blade glided over the ice a few hand spans and Zhenya shrieked. "Shitshitshit!"

"That was good already. Now a little harder."

Despite being intimidated Zhenya tried again, skating a little farther.

Otabek kept holding his hand, going backwards slowly. "Very good. Now the other foot. you can try to alternate, right, left, right, left. Do you wanna try?"

Zhenya nodded, his fingers tense in Otabek's. "If you let go of me and I swear to God I'll curse you and your family for 15 generations", he hissed with a smirk and pushed away with the left skate.

It turned out that once Zhenya finally got involved with skating he had a lot of fun. After a little more than two hours they skated next to each other, Zhenya holding onto Otabek with one hand only to have him know when the corner came. Of course he fell a few times but he didn't let it discourage him. He got up but not with the grim determination Otabek had expected. He just enjoyed himself, more than Otabek could have hoped. And it made him happy as well.

When they were exhausted they sat down on one of the benches and Otabek went over to the bar to fetch them two cups of hot cocoa. Sitting down next to Zhenya and handing him one of the paper cups they listened to the other people skating.

"Hey", Zhenya said after a while. "Sorry for earlier. When I said that I couldn't… I didn't want to be mean or something. It's just that people usually aren't nice to me. Well, nice, yeah, but not… thoughtful." He took a sip of his cocoa, smiling a very gentle smile suddenly. "With one exception maybe. But well, it's not normal for me, so… thanks, okay?"

Otabek looked at the boy who was so much like his father that it made him smile. "You're welcome", he said. They sat in silence for a moment, before Otabek dared: "Can I ask you something?"

Zhenya shrugged. "Sure."

"You said that people are usually not thoughtful with one exception. May I ask who it is? Because I haven't seen you smile the way you did when you mentioned that one person."

The blush that exploded on Zhenya's pale face was as red as his parka. "It's nothing, really", he played it down, but the smile came back. "Just someone who… was kinda… okay once. No big deal…"

"If it's no big deal you can tell me", Otabek probed with a grin that must be audible for Zhenya too. The boy shrugged but remained silent, so Otabek continued: "Is it someone I know?"

Shrug.

"Someone from the bratva?"

Sip from cocoa.

"Someone your father works with?"

"Oh my God, don't get the wrong ideas!", Zhenya blurted out, wiping cocoa from his mouth with the back of his hand. then he hunched his shoulders and sighed. "I don't know if you know him. I guess everyone does, but you just came here so you prolly haven't met him. He's… the vor's son."

Otabek frowned. "Katyusha?"

"M-hm…" The smile returned to the boy's flushed face. "He was at Aljosha's birthday party. He sat next to me and… and they had buffet and he told me what was on the plates and helped me with it and…" Zhenya sighed the sigh of a hopeless crush. "He… he's nice. He talked to me like I was… normal. And he was so polite and cute and… that prolly sounds awkward to you, but he smells super, super good. And his voice is so deep and a little raspy and it really suits him. And his hair is super long and silky, he let me touch it, it's just so pretty. Everyone says he's the most beautiful person ever and, you know, I believe them because he is so nice, it wouldn't suit him if he wasn't beautiful too."

Otabek smiled. "You like him." And when Zhenya nodded he added: "You like him a lot."

"Yeah", Zhenya sighed. "He's perfect."

Zhenya couldn't see when Otabek nodded.

"Erasyl", Zhenya mumbled after a while, "do you think that at any time, at any place in the world there's a chance that unrequited love can be… requited eventually?"

The steam from the cocoa rose from their paper cups slowly.

"I hope so", he murmured slowly. "I hope so."