Why am I loved only when I'm gone?
Gone back in time to bless the child
Think of me long enough to make a memory
Come bless the child one more time
How can I ever feel again?
Given the chance, would I return?
-Nightwish, Bless the Child
"Tackle him from behind. Yes, steady now… steady… stay on target… Now."
The figure on the screen, clad in red and white and riding a broomstick, pulls into a dive and snatches the Quaffle out from under the arm of a player of the opposing team. Maria gives a whoop of triumph.
"Well done," Kirill says. "Hey, keep your eyes on the screen."
"Argh!" The player barely dodges the other's attempt to win the Quaffle back.
"Careful, you're going for your own goalposts."
"Whoops." The player turns and zigzags in the other direction, pursued by another, a figure clad in yellow. "I forgot how to do the combo."
"Twice the One or Three, depending on whether you want left or right, and the left upper trigger. Hold the trigger to gather some force."
"Thanks." Maria looks away from the screen, at the dark blue and black USB game controller in her hands. "One, One… and pass!" The Quaffle starts to glow red as she presses and holds the trigger, then is tossed forward forcefully. For a moment it seems to be suspended in midair on its flight forward, then another player in red and white shoots upwards to catch it. "Yes!"
"Careful," Kirill warns. "Bludger."
Immediately Maria squeals and pushes the game controller at him. "You do it!"
"You'll never learn it that way."
"Please!"
"Oh, alright." The pair of Beaters have already taken their defence position beside the red and white Chaser marked with the pale yellow star-shaped frame that shows he is the active player, and the Bludger, a dark dot trailed with a hue of bluish violet on the screen, is coming towards them swiftly. For a moment Kirill just watches it, then he lets the player spiral by twirling the left analogue stick of the controller with his thumb. The Bludger, programmed to follow the motions of the Chaser in possession of the Quaffle, slows down considerably, and Kirill lets his Chaser pull out of the spiralling manoeuvre and swerve sideways sharply. Mirroring this move, the Beaters turn as well, and Kirill makes sure that one of them comes close enough to the Bludger to beat it to the other end of the pitch with his club. The pass lock is lifted as soon as the Bludger is out of the way, he knows it, so he immediately passes the Quaffle on to one of his other Chasers. The goalposts, three high hoops guarded by the opposing team's Keeper, are very close now, and he heads straight for them. In the difficulty level Maria has chosen, he does not even find it necessary to perform any manoeuvres to dodge other players, he simply speeds towards the hoop on the far left, then turns sharply as the Keeper moves to block, racing towards the one on the far right and throwing the Quaffle from a distance that would be highly risky in even the second level, but in this one the players are extremely slow for his taste. As the player on the screen scores easily, he hands the controller back. "Here you go."
"Cool!" Maria beams. "Thanks."
Kirill leans back and smiles as the girl continues playing. She clearly is improving, starting to develop quicker reactions and a much steadier hand. Soon she will be able to play Quidditch World Cup without his assistance, and on a higher difficulty level. And soon she will not need his help any longer for all her other beloved Harry Potter video games. Her mother, Kirill's elder sister, does not really approve of Kirill teaching her how to play, but then again she has bought part of the games herself for her daughter, knowing fully well that at first it would be Kirill who would play them, with Maria watching and cheering him on, so she should not complain.
The door opens immediately after a very brief knock, and his father enters. It is surprising that he knocks at all, Kirill thinks. "Mashenka, darling, you should be in bed."
"But Grandpa," Maria protests, "can't I finish the match first? Mama and Papa won't be around for some time, anyway."
"But just this match, alright?" His eyes seem to harden as he looks at Kirill. "Bring her to bed afterwards."
"I will, Papa," Kirill says automatically.
"I scored!" Maria calls out in triumph. "Grandpa, I scored!"
His father smiles. "Well done, my angel." And already the smile has disappeared again. "Kirill, I just had a word with your driver. A good man, very useful. Can be trusted with simple tasks."
"I know," Kirill says, not without pride. "And not only with simple tasks. I'd trust Nikolai with my life."
Why does his father frown at this? What is the matter with him?
"Oh, Nikolai is great," Maria puts in, her eyes glued to the screen. "He came along to the cinema last week."
"He did?" Why is his father raising his eyebrows at him like that?
"Well, I couldn't let him wait outside for three hours or so, could I now?" Kirill shrugs. Technically he could, but that would seem extremely rude to him. After all, Nikolai is not just a driver, he is his friend.
His father is still mustering him with an oddly suspicious kind of look, and Kirill angrily wonders what he has done wrong yet again. Once he has brought Maria to bed, he will ask Nikolai what was going on just now. After all, Nikolai will surely wait for him downstairs and not just disappear.
"I scored again!" Maria proclaims proudly. "With a special move, even. Did you see it?"
"Sure. That was the somersault." Kirill has barely registered what was going on on the computer screen, but now Maria asks, he can recall what it was. "See, you don't need me for it."
"I do," she contradicts him. "Because you're my favourite person in the world, even if Mama says you're messy and leave the toilet seat up all the time."
"That's sweet of you, baby." He leans over to kiss her cheek, and she beams at the screen, only very briefly taking her eyes from it to find the correct button on the controller. When she is concentrating on something, she can be very focused, more focused than Kirill ever was, he suspects.
From behind his father comes to run a hand through her hair, and she adds, "I love you too, Grandpa."
There is a knock at the door, and Kirill recognises the knock: discreet yet determined. "Come right in, Kolya," he calls over his shoulder.
The door opens and Nikolai enters, still perfectly dressed in his dark Armani suit. He bows his head in greeting as he sees that Kirill's father is there, and takes his place next to the door, holding his left hand with his right as so often when he is waiting patiently, doing his best to blend in with the environment. One might expect him to put on his sunglasses, Kirill thinks with amusement. "Take a seat, you clown. Where do you think you are, before court or what?"
Nikolai gives him a tiny smile. "With your permission." He looks around, but since all available chairs are either occupied or else, in the case of the third that would be there, used to pile up freshly laundered shirts and underwear, he sits down on the edge of the bed, shrugging.
"Since when do you ask my permission, goof?" Kirill laughs, and so does Maria, but his father is – no, not quite frowning. It is far more subtle than that. But he practically radiates disapproval as his gaze flickers between his son and Nikolai.
What's the fucking matter with you? Kirill feels like shooting this question at him, but then again, it never is a good idea to provoke him. Does he think one should not speak to one's driver like one would speak to a friend? Well, Nikolai is a friend, so why should he treat him any differently? He sees no need to, even if Nikolai acts as awkwardly as a schoolboy confronted with a pretty woman suddenly.
"The Snitch!" Maria cries. And indeed, the tiny golden ball with the silver wings has appeared, as has the golden trail that shows the player which way to follow. Maria accelerates, and the red and white Seeker speeds along the trail, zigzagging to and fro, with the yellow Seeker in hot pursuit.
"Keep him steady," Kirill counsels. "You're losing speed."
"He's a she," Maria corrects him.
"Alright, keep her steady. In the middle of the trail."
"I'm trying." For some time the sounds coming from the video game are the only sounds in the room. With a hand tenderly placed on the top of the girl's head, even Kirill's father is watching, and Kirill wonders how much knowledge about the Harry Potter universe she has yet managed to cram into his head. Unlike Kirill, he has not read any of the books yet, but if Maria keeps trying, it will only be a matter of time, he assumes.
As was to be expected, Maria thrusts the controller into Kirill's hands as soon as the opposing Seeker overtakes hers, and Kirill finishes the game for her, and Maria leaps onto his lap and hugs him tight as he catches the Snitch for her. Laughing, he gives her a squeeze. "Come on, baby, bedtime."
"Can't I listen to a bit of music first?"
"Tomorrow." If his father were not there, he would allow her to pick a goodnight song, but his father would not approve, he is pretty sure. "Whatever you like."
Maria slips off his lap. "Promise?"
"Promise," he confirms.
"I'll take her to bed," his father offers, but somehow it seems to Kirill that he is watching him. Or is he just being paranoid?
"That's alright, Papa, I'll do it." And no matter if he was just watching him or not, this would have been his answer even if he had not had this thought.
His father gives him a smile, and he answers it gratefully. "You should have an early night, too. You've had a busy week."
"Yes, Papa, I think I will. I just need a word with Nikolai first. About tomorrow," he adds, feeling the newly arisen suspicion more than actually seeing it. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about." And so does Nikolai, of course, but Maria should not hear what it is they are doing. She is far too young, and too innocent.
His father nods. "It would be best if you started out early."
Kirill gives him a tentative little grin. "How early is early?"
"You lazy boy." For once, the reproach is very mild. "You ought to be leaving at six, or seven at the very latest."
Maria groans sympathetically.
"Fine," Kirill sighs, eager to please his father after the whole nasty Soyka affair and its results. "Six it shall be. Heard that, Nikolai?"
"I did."
"That means I'll have to be up at five," Kirill thinks aloud. "Or better yet, four thirty, just to be sure. Maybe it would be best if you slept here."
Nikolai shrugs. He has gotten up again and is standing in the same pose as before, his hands crossed in front of his belt buckle. "Don't bother about me, I'll be here in time."
"Well, it's no trouble at all," Kirill insists. "We'll just drag you a mattress in here."
And then he notices that his father is frowning again.
Luckily Maria changes the topic. "Where are you going tomorrow?"
"To one of Grandpa's suppliers," Kirill explains. "For a discussion of business." It's not even a lie. "Come on, you should get ready for bed. Nikolai, wait here." He has been very close to calling him Kolya once more, but from now on he will try not to do so again when his father is listening.
He bids his father goodnight on the corridor outside, tentatively giving him a hug, yet while his father pats his back briefly, his stance is very wooden, and Kirill seriously wonders what is wrong. Maria gets a goodnight kiss, then his father departs heading downstairs.
Kirill takes Maria to the bathroom and makes sure she brushes her teeth and washes her face before changing into her pyjamas. Then he brings her to her bedroom, tucks her in and kisses her goodnight, and as she smiles up at him, her eyelids are drooping already. A look at his watch tells him it is past ten o'clock, high time for her to be asleep.
Returning to his own room, he already pulls his T-shirt over his head in the corridor. Maybe he should take a shower now, so he will not have to get up quite as early?
Nikolai is comfortably sitting on the bed this time, his tie loosened and his jacket discarded. The change of attitude is quite remarkable. When someone else is around, Nikolai practically acts like a stranger. "What was that fuss about?" Kirill teases him. "Afraid I might paint your toenails pink while you're asleep?"
Nikolai waits with his answer until Kirill has not only pulled the door shut behind him, but also come as close as a few steps. "It's your father. Haven't you noticed how he was looking at us?"
Kirill shrugs, wondering if he should wear the T-shirt again the next day and deciding against it. "He doesn't like us to be pals, apparently. Thinks I should use more authority. All over the place. Just to make him look better. You don't agree with this fucking crap, or do you?"
"Kirill…" Nikolai gets up and places both hands on his shoulders, his fingers warm and gentle on his bare skin. "Look, I hate to bring this up, I really do, but this is about the rumours. About the shit Soyka was spreading."
Kirill stares at him. "You mean you told him? You told my father? You actually –"
"Hush," Nikolai says gently. "It's alright."
"No, it fucking isn't!" Kirill bellows, pushing him away roughly. "What did you have to tell him for, you damned arsehole?"
"I didn't want to, but he made me. I had to." Nikolai sighs. "Besides, he had heard it before. And if I now go home, he will think no more of it."
"Yes he will!" Kirill growls. "He fucking will!"
"Look, it's just the usual insults," Nikolai reasons. "When we give him nothing he could possibly interpret as a clue, he won't waste a thought on it in a week's time. Besides, he dislikes Soyka anyway."
Kirill groans and lets himself fall onto the bed heavily. "So I can't come closer than four feet to you, or what? This is so fucking stupid."
"Of course it's fucking stupid." Nikolai sits down beside him and places an arm around his shoulders, and he does not shake him off. After this revelation, with the perspective of at least another week of his father's grudge ahead, it feels good to have someone close to him, and he is very tempted to rest his head on Nikolai's shoulder, but he decides against it. What if Nikolai is slowly growing suspicious too?
Oh, how he hates Soyka, how he loathes his memory!
"Normally I'd accept your offer gladly," Nikolai continues. "I wouldn't even mind sleeping in the same bed with you, as long as you don't kick around in your sleep and pull the blanket away, that is." He chuckles. "But for tactical reasons, I suggest I sleep at my own place this time."
Kirill nods numbly, convinced. Why does his father have to be so stupid? There is nothing wrong with sleeping in the same room with a friend! And he has not even suggested sharing his bed with him. So what else is his father's point of objection?
But Nikolai just said he would share a bed with me, he thinks. That's quite a bit of trust he's showing.
And it must be very comfortable, very warm and cuddly, falling asleep by Nikolai's side, maybe waking again in the night because his friend has stirred in his sleep and knowing everything is alright because Nikolai is still there with him to guard him and keep an eye on him, waking in the morning with his head on Nikolai's shoulder, enjoying his warmth…
Kirill pushes the thought away. He should not be picturing things like that.
But he's my friend. Just a little innocent cuddle would not make me a queer.
Still, it would not quite be how friends, even very close friends, are expected to act.
Brothers, perhaps?
But at the same time, Kirill knows that this is something else he feels, a fascination, a draw, that Nikolai is more than just a friend and brother.
Yes, he is my father also. He has taken my father's place, and he is giving me all I'll never get from my father.
As a little boy, he has sometimes crawled into his father's bed on Sunday mornings and slept a little longer in his father's arms, feeling as safe as nowhere else in the world. There's my Kiryusha, his father would murmur drowsily, he recalls, and hold up the blanket for him, and he would settle in and feel as sheltered as a child in his mother's womb. But these times are long past, and there is no tenderness and affection to be had from his father anymore, or only very little. But Nikolai is different; Nikolai will readily show him a brotherly fondness that he has found in no other friend until now. Nikolai feels more for him than his father does.
And he is a weakling for needing this, he thinks, repulsed at himself, but still he needs it from time to time, just like Maria sometimes just wants to sit on his lap and put her arms around his neck.
Nikolai's hand wanders over his shoulder, down his upper arm. "Forgive me, Kiryusha. At times a man only has so many choices. And yet he cannot be forced to sell his soul. Do not believe I betrayed you. I never would. One has to make sacrifices, but it does not mean to give up one's true loyalty. It lies with you, little brother, and it always will."
Kirill tries to find an answer to this, but there is no appropriate one coming to his mind, not for such strong, beautiful words. Instead, he rests his head against Nikolai's in a gesture of companionship and trust, and Nikolai keeps stroking his shoulder. He understands him without words, Kirill feels, and in return there is a promise in the gentle touch of his hand, a confirmation of the promise he has spoken aloud before.
And Nikolai does not mind touching his naked skin. That proves he does not consider him a queer, or else he would certainly not do it. Well, to be exact, Nikolai has never yet shown any reluctance about taking off his clothes in front of him, either – not that he regularly does it, but he has never yet hesitated on the couple of occasions where it was logical for him to do so, like when coming back drenched with sweat and in need for a shower.
A shower, oh yes. That is what he has had in mind for now, actually. "Do you think it's suspicious if you're still here while I take a shower?" He should get up now, but he prefers to have Nikolai's arm around him for a little longer.
"Definitely," Nikolai says. "Especially when you call stuff from the bathroom again, like get the fuck in here and turn the heater on, I'm freezing my arse off."
They both laugh at this. "But it really was chilly," Kirill protests. "And I was wet. Besides, how is my father to know if I'm dressed in a towel or not? Come in here and help me look for my towel, I'm naked and freezing would be much worse, wouldn't it?"
"Apparently he has to protect me from the sight of a naked man," Nikolai states in his usual sarcastic tone, making Kirill grin. "Do you think I could bear the shock?"
"Probably not. You'd die of it."
"Then I'd better be off before you take any more clothes off," Nikolai says with a little smile, getting off the bed and picking up his jacket, and Kirill feels strangely cold after he has withdrawn his arm. "I'll see you tomorrow, then, old boy."
Kirill is certain that his father listens somewhere for Nikolai's footsteps to descend the stairs.
After his friend has gone, he sits on his bed for some time, staring at the carpet and feeling empty inside. Finally he gives himself a mental nudge and goes to take a shower, but he is not even in the mood to sing as the warm water flows over him. All he can think of is his father, and Soyka, and all those lies, and how Nikolai's departure has left him all alone, as if he had torn a hole into the room. This is foolishness, he tells himself, and besides, he is going to see his friend again very soon, but still he misses him already.
Soon he crawls under his blanket and extinguishes the light, and the memory of Nikolai and the blond Ukrainian girl torment him with feelings of shame and guilt until he falls asleep at last.