Would you do it with me
Heal the scars and change the stars?
Would you do it for me
Turn loose the heaven within?
-Nightwish, Ever Dream
Joy is bubbling up in him like a warm well, and it will not stop. He wants to hug Nikolai to him and hold him, and never, never let him go again. He wants this moment to freeze and stay for hours and hours on end, this bliss to never leave him.
"Come on," Nikolai urges him gently, and it feels so incredibly good to hear his voice again, "are you sure you don't want to go home?"
"Nah." Kirill laughs and tightens his grip around Nikolai's waist. "Forget it. Man, it's fucking New Year's Eve!"
"Fine." Nikolai is chuckling softly, like he does so often when something amuses him. Kirill has missed his chuckle and is glad to hear it again, though it has only been two days. But two days can be a horribly long time, sometimes. "Here's a suggestion: I take you somewhere where we can watch the fireworks, and where we're undisturbed at the same time. We need a little time together, you and I."
"Totally," Kirill agrees, beaming. "And girls and drinks and stuff, right?" No, no girls this time, just the two of them. For once, he really wants to be alone with his friend.
"I'm not in the mood for girls," Nikolai declines, and Kirill discovers that he feels grateful about this revelation. "And not for drinks, either. You've had your share already, little brother. What I had in mind," here he stops and takes Kirill by both shoulders, "is just us. Nobody else. Let's pretend there's nobody else alive in this city, just you and me."
Kirill looks into his eyes, reads the affection within them. "Nobody else," he repeats. "Nobody else in the world, right? Right, Kolya?" He cannot stop himself, he just has to embrace his friend for a moment, though he remembers just in time not to squeeze him too tightly since he was hurt just two days ago, two long, dark days, but still a short time for wounds to heal.
"Right, Kiryusha," Nikolai says fondly, brushing a few dishevelled blond strands out of Kirill's face. "Come on now, get into the car."
"I'm driving," Kirill offers. "You've been hurt."
"No way. You've been drinking again."
"I'm sober," Kirill protests. "Well, more or less." And he laughs, not because he finds his own remark funny, but because he is with Nikolai and the world is beautiful.
"Less," Nikolai says dryly. "Passenger seat, little brother. Sheesh." And he deftly fishes the key out of Kirill's coat pocket.
Kirill gives him a playful poke in the upper arm before he gets into the car, which is pleasantly warm after the cool night air of the riverside. He notices the motorbike parked nearby and understands how Nikolai got here – with that girl, then, but no matter, they are leaving now, leaving together, and she stays where she is, so why bother?
Well, Nikolai did take suspiciously long to come after him, did he not?
Or was it really? Since he has really been drinking a bit too much yet again, in order to accomplish a deed thinking of which has sickened him, he has used the opportunity to slip off into a dark side alley for a moment, and he doubts it has taken him long, but still…
All the same, the thing with that girl is over now. It is time for the heroes to ride off into the sunset. The thought makes him smile.
Maybe it will really seem to the girl that they are riding off into the sunset, in a way, out of her life, out of her story. And a new story begins for her, with the child whose life he spared.
This reminds him of what Nikolai has told him as he was standing by the dark water, and the thought sobers him up a little. "Kolya…" He does not want to speak about it, nor about anything else that might distract him from his happiness, but he has to ask, he simply has to.
"Yes?" Nikolai has taken his place in the driver's seat. It seems to Kirill that his eyes roam over the motorbike, but only very briefly. Then he fastens his seatbelt and turns the ignition key.
"You said just now that my father would be… going away." Yes, this is what he said.
At first Nikolai does not answer, but concentrates on turning the car around. Then, when Kirill is about to clarify his question, he finally says, "Yes. He's going away. And his empire is all yours."
Kirill takes a deep breath. No, he is not delirious, he has not had that much. He is not dreaming either. "You're kidding me, right?" He laughs, but it is an uncertain laugh. What is Nikolai playing at? Is he plotting revenge? "You're fucking kidding me." And if he is, where will Kirill stand?
With Nikolai. Always with Nikolai, with the one who has shown him true friendship and brotherly love where there was no one else who would.
But can he betray his father?
Yes. He can, and he already has. He has let the child live, thereby defying his father's explicit orders, and he knows exactly what this means.
Is this why…
And then all the pieces of the puzzle clink into place, just like they have done earlier on, when remembering what the girl has told him about the baby being his father's child, his own sister. "You turned him in." It is an outrageous thing to say, but once pronounced, the logical conclusion pulls him along, and he cannot stop himself. "It was you who picked up the diary from that midwife girl. You read it, so you knew about this already when she told me, and you turned my father in when you realised he had set you up. You sent them to get his blood. Man…" His thoughts and feelings are in turmoil. "You fucking turned my father in to the police." He feels dizzy, as if the car were spinning around him, and numb, as if this realisation had been the blow of a sledgehammer. "I can't believe it, Kolya. I just can't fucking believe it." He should feel angry, no, truly furious, but he cannot quite say if he does. He should hate Nikolai, but he knows that he does not.
You're either with him or with me, Nikolai has said. It must have been the easiest choice Kirill has made in his life.
But this does not mean that an easy choice cannot hurt.
Nikolai stops the car by the roadside, something he does not do normally. When he turns the motor off, everything is strangely quiet suddenly. Another car's headlights briefly flicker and disappear again at a distance, but apart from that, they are alone in the dim glow of the street lights. "Listen, Kiryusha," Nikolai begins, switching into Russian, "there is a time for everything, and for everyone. And this is your time. Far too long has he kicked you around like a dog, and far too long have I been forced to watch. Don't ask me to witness it any longer. Now he will be gone for some time, and when he returns, you will be strong, and he will no longer be able to break you. The stars are your birthright, and it is time you truly claim them. You're the boss now, little brother, how's that?"
But Kirill can only shake his head in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right? Tell me you're kidding me." And yet he knows that Nikolai is serious. God, what should he do? What can he do? He is caught between his father and his friend, and he has to choose.
With him or with me, Nikolai has said. With his father or with Nikolai.
With you, Kolya. Always with you.
He sees that Nikolai is watching him and draws a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I'm with you, Kolya. But you owe me an explanation." How he wishes that it had not come to this, that everything would be back to normal!
But on the other hand… isn't it a relief to know his father will be gone for some time?
He should not think like that.
But all the same, he does.
Nikolai's hand suddenly touches his. "I did it for us, Kiryusha. For me, because he meant to have me killed, and for you, because he was killing you himself, slowly but certainly. I'm not letting him harm me, but I'd rather have him harm me than my brother."
Once again Kirill is at a loss for words. Instead he takes Nikolai's hand in his and squeezes it gently. He knows that he is betraying his father, but his father has betrayed him first, and manipulated and humiliated him countless times, while Nikolai would never do any of this. Nikolai is there for him, and Nikolai cares.
And I'm the boss now.
Kirill feels elated, but scared at the same time. How is he to handle this all? His father has taught him a lot, but he feels completely unable to run the whole family business on his own.
No, not on his own. "But you'll be with me too, won't you? Help me with the whole business? As my right-hand man?"
"As your most loyal follower." Nikolai squeezes Kirill's hand in turn, then lets go of it and starts the motor once more.
Warm affection rushes through Kirill and makes him want to hug his friend to him, but already Nikolai is steering the car back onto the road. "I can't do this alone," he admits instead, hoping Nikolai will interpret this as a sign of trust and not of weakness.
"You won't be alone, brother," Nikolai assures him. "By the way, you're sleeping at my place tonight. I want you out of the way when they come for your father."
"You've got it all planned, you fucking devious bastard." Kirill cannot but admire his friend.
Nikolai chuckles. "I'm beating your father by means of his own favourite occupation: scheming."
Despite feeling guilty about it, Kirill grins at this. "And you're fucking unbelievably good at it."
"Thank you. Now where do you want to go?"
"Dunno." To have a few drinks would be the logical option, but somehow Kirill is not convinced if he is in the right mood for it. What he has heard about his father has sobered him up far too much. "Somewhere where we can see the fireworks, I guess, like you said." He glances at his watch. "Not even an hour left 'til midnight." To underline this, a cascade of gold erupts into the night sky at some distance, and Kirill faintly smiles at the memory of how much he used to love the fireworks as a child.
"Very well. I suggest somewhere by the riverside."
"Wherever," Kirill says. As long as Nikolai is with him, it does not matter much.
"Fasten your seatbelt, will you?"
Kirill sighs, but does so. "It's not as if you're likely to have an accident, man," he protests half-heartedly.
"Not me, but somebody else perhaps." Of course, Nikolai always fastens his own seatbelt. "So, what have you been up to while I spent two days in a cosy bed and with personnel around me?"
Kirill laughs at this. "Oh, nothing much. Same as usual. Except I got a nasty thrashing from my father when I confronted him about you." Serves him right that he'll now see prison from the inside again, Kirill thinks angrily, but he tries to make his voice sound light and casual. "Dealt with an affair of import, then fucked Sonya for a bit… well, funnily we spent more time talking than fucking, actually," he admits, "out of solidarity for you, sort of."
"Ah, you needn't have. Once I was brought to hospital, life was looking pretty rosy really." Nikolai smiles grimly. "I had a soft blanket, a huge pillow and plenty of time for scheming."
"And that midwife of yours to take care of you, by any chance?" Kirill teases him, but at the same time he feels a faint trace of irritation… or should he call it jealousy?
Nikolai shrugs. "She looked in once she found out I was around, but obviously I didn't get to fuck her, despite the nice bed and everything."
"Shame, eh?" Kirill grins. That Nikolai speaks about her in such a dispassionate way is calming. "Hey, if you ever get to fuck her after all, I want a go too."
"Man, what is it with you and girls?" Nikolai laughs. "You'd mount anything female that holds still long enough! What makes you so horny all the time?"
"Why are you such a bloody ascetic?" Kirill teases him back. "You could do with a regular fuck, seriously. Oh, and I don't take anything female. I want them good-looking, skilled and willing. Do you think your little midwife falls under that category?"
"Ask her, why don't you?" Nikolai swats at him playfully. "But not your normal lame method, mind you. Hi, I'm Kirill; would you like to see my bedroom?"
Kirill pokes him in the shoulder, but is careful not to make him turn the wheel by accident. Something has occurred to him. "Eh, Kolya. Didn't you deal with her uncle or something?"
"Yes," Nikolai says curtly. "But not the way you think."
"What d'you mean?" What the hell has Nikolai been up to lately?
"I was plotting again," Nikolai says simply. "I'll tell you about all of it tomorrow, shall I?"
"Hm." Kirill does not like the idea that Nikolai has been playing a game of his own behind everybody's back, but then again, Nikolai is his best friend, his brother, and whatever he does, Kirill trusts him. "Fine, tomorrow, then. We make all the plans tomorrow. Like what we do with that goddamn fucking Turkish swine of a traitor."
"Azim?" The corners of Nikolai's mouth twitch only very slightly. "Yes, we'll discuss him tomorrow; I'm not quite sure myself yet. Tonight it's just us."
"Just us," Kirill repeats, nodding, but he feels that something has come between them now, a crack in their bond.
For some time they drive on in silence. Strange, Kirill thinks, how there were so many things he wanted to tell Nikolai coming to his mind while Nikolai was away, but now, when he is reunited with him, his mind is blank. No, to be exact, there are some things he wants him to know, but he cannot quite put them into words. They are just feelings, but he has never been good at expressing his emotions, or rather, he has always refused to, because it makes him vulnerable, and he does not like sharing too much of his inmost thoughts.
This way, he and Nikolai share a path, but at the same time they walk alone – shoulder to shoulder, but alone. It is a sad thought, somehow.
Well, maybe he could give it another try. "It's good to have you back," he says, but it sounds awkward to his own ears, so obvious and empty.
Nikolai smiles at the dark street outside. "I will always come back, little brother. I promised you that."
Anything Nikolai says sounds better than what Kirill can come up with, no matter how hard he tries. If Kirill were not so very glad to be with him, he would be frustrated yet again. "Maria missed you too." This is easier to say than the silly I missed you. "But I didn't really tell her what happened. She's too young. I want to let her keep her innocence for some time, sort of, if you get my meaning." He pauses, thoughtlessly gazing out at a white car passing them; he cannot make out the type in the darkness. "I try not to speak ill of my father in front of her, too, because I don't want to hurt her. It's bad enough for me that he's not like he used to be, a long time ago – and even then he was a manipulative bastard, only I didn't see it, of course." The anger at all the many times he has been betrayed is still there, seething underneath the joy. "Did I ever tell you how exactly we came here, and what was my part in it?"
"Only vaguely. You were just a little boy, weren't you?"
"I was twelve," Kirill says. This is a safer topic, so talking about it coherently is a lot easier. "I liked football quite a lot, and I used to support Spartak Moscow."
"You still do, don't you?" Nikolai puts in.
"Well, sort of. I don't really keep track with all of their matches anymore." Kirill shrugs. "Anyway, back then their archrival was Dynamo Moscow, and everybody knew it was the club of the Ministry of the Interior, and of course the KGB, just like Lokomotiv was the railways club and Spartak sort of belonged to the kolkhozes. Anyway, we talked about football at school, of course, and sometimes got into fights over it, especially the Spartak and Dynamo supporters. Well, one day I told another kid Dynamo sucked balls hardcore for being the fucking KGB club. Besides, I kept refusing to call Zenit Saint Petersburg Zenit Leningrad. As you can imagine, I got reported, and Papa got into serious trouble."
"Did he punish you?"
"Punish me? No way." Kirill laughs. "He called me a hero and bought me a Spartak jersey – the one Maria occasionally wears now. I was so damn proud, man. But of course, this was what he had wanted all along. He kept telling me those things, because he wanted me to repeat them and get into trouble – another good reason why he could argue he was a refugee for political reason, and that they had even persecuted his twelve-year-old son… who was too young and foolish to see him through."
"You know," Nikolai says after a brief pause, "that he would knowingly endanger his own son doesn't surprise me at all."
"And still I think he loved me back then, in his way." It is said very easily, but cannot be taken back. Yet this is Nikolai; Nikolai will not laugh at such a sentiment.
"Yes, he probably did, though maybe only in expectancy of the man you should, in his opinion, become."
"Possibly." Again Kirill shrugs, although the seatbelt is a bit in the way. "But I failed him entirely."
"Not a bad thing, in my opinion." Nikolai says it very lightly, but to Kirill, this means a lot. "Try not to worry about anything tonight, will you? You need to get your mind off things for a bit."
"Right," Kirill agrees readily. "I'll try." He wants to ask what exactly Nikolai meant with that remark about failing his father not being a bad thing, but he suddenly feels as awkward as a little boy. "Let's go and have a couple of drinks, shall we?"
Nikolai sighs as he takes a turn to the left. "Maybe it would be good if you found a way of distracting yourself without that much alcohol. I'm sure you can."
"Don't you go forbidding me my vices," Kirill protests, half amused, half irritated. He knows himself that he drinks too much at times, and that it has been pretty bad recently; he does not like having it pointed out like this.
"Calm down. Not all of them."
"Fine," Kirill says. "I don't drink, you don't smoke. How's that?"
"Smoking doesn't interfere with my behaviour," Nikolai points out smugly.
"But with your health," Kirill argues, imitating his friend's smug tone. "If you want to spend the rest of your life coughing up black slime, and then die of some nasty sort of cancer, way to go."
"Don't get me started on your liver, pal," Nikolai retorts dryly.
"Hey, stay away from my fucking liver!" Kirill protests. "Eh, hang on. Leave my liver out of this, I mean."
But Nikolai is laughing already. "Who do you think you are, Prometheus?"
"Who? Ah, right, Prometheus, sure." Kirill laughs despite himself. To hell with a vor's dignity.
"Do you actually know who I'm talking about?"
"You think I'm stupid? That's the guy who nicked the fire from the fucking gods and had an eagle munch up his innards for punishment. And the fucking stuff grew back every day."
"See here, someone knows his Greek mythology," Nikolai states. "Nicked the fire from the fucking gods and had an eagle munch up his innards. Indeed."
"Well, it's true! I mean, as far as mythology is, obviously." Kirill rolls his eyes, although he fears this is lost on Nikolai, since his friend is concentrating on the road. "As soon as you stop the car, I'll hit you."
"Thanks for the warning, that's very considerate of you."
And once again they are coming closer, Kirill feels, as they engage in a friendly banter. Everything is back to normal again.
No, he recalls, it is not. Not when Nikolai is plotting behind his back.
Plotting in Kirill's own interest.
Why does life have to be so difficult when it could be simply marvellous for once? Why can happiness not be pure and untainted for just one time? Why do his wishes always hurt him in some way when they come true?
And the moment when he should have told Nikolai what he truly means to him is gone now, too. He has missed the opportunity, and it will not come back.
Here you go again, you idiot. You're lousy at anything you do.
The silence is brief, but to Kirill it is unbearable after only a few seconds. So he gives his friend an account of what happened while he was in hospital, of Misha's message, his confrontation with his father, his encounter with Sonya and what he intends to do with her, of how his father had to give a blood sample, how for once it was him who realised what was the reason behind it, how his father offered him a chance to be redeemed, in a way, by sending him to the hospital – or was this only what he hoped it would be? –, and how he abducted the baby. He leaves nothing out, except that his father called him a queer, because he does not want Nikolai to assume that his father may be right – which is a foolish sentiment, of course, but he still refuses to repeat it.
And how can he ever express his feelings for Nikolai if his friend might think the wrong thing of him?
"Well, and then you came," he finishes at last, which is a lame ending, but it does not matter. "And not even in a suit, for a change."
Nikolai shrugs. He seems to feel quite comfortable in jeans, polo shirt and hooded sweater. "You've seen me in civilian clothes before."
"But they never were quite as crumpled and washed out," Kirill remarks. "Not that I mind, though."
"Well, I had to take what I could get," Nikolai says. "Or rather, what Anna could get me. Luckily she knew I was leaving, or I would never have found you that fast."
"Anna, eh? What's she to you?" This really is jealousy, Kirill realises, and it is ridiculous. Is he a little girl or what? But still, he does not want any woman to get too close to Nikolai, not emotionally, anyway. If he just takes her to bed for a night, Kirill does not care, because then she means nothing to him, but a woman who means more to him, who he might even fall in love with…
"C'mon off it, man," Nikolai protests, and Kirill dreads that his friend has realised why he just asked. "I told you, she's pretty. But that's it."
And still Kirill cannot stop himself. "What were you doing all that time, after I left you with her? Why didn't you come after me, eh?"
Nikolai gives him a predatory leer that succeeds in making him grin. "What do you do when left alone with a pretty girl, and your pal gives you a little time because he's yet again pissing up against a wall somewhere?"
"Hey, how d'you know?"
"Your fly's still half open," Nikolai answers matter-of-factly. "Besides," he adds as Kirill starts fumbling with his buttons, "you do that all the time when you've been drinking, and while you haven't been drinking overmuch this time, you were nervous, or rather, agitated. Moreover, you were upset about your father, and it's often a little act of private rebellion. Any more questions?"
"Stop analysing me," Kirill says flatly. "It's getting scary."
Nikolai laughs. "I'm just telling you when you're becoming predictable. Right, here we are. A short distance from Victoria Embankment. Not exactly private, but certainly a nice place."
He parks the car by the roadside, and Kirill climbs out and stretches his limbs. The cold night air gently caresses his face. For some reason he is glad to be out under the sky again, but he cannot tell why. What a strange rollercoaster of emotions he has gone through while travelling with his friend! Perhaps the winter breeze calms him down.
And it helps banishing this Anna from his mind at last. Her image flies away on the wind.
"Come on." Nikolai touches his elbow, and he wants to place an arm around his shoulders, as he does so often, but thinks better of it when he sees a group of passers-by and hears the voices from ahead. Nothing wrong with putting an arm around a friend, but still, after the recent accusations… Yet before he has come to a decision, it is Nikolai who suddenly has an arm around Kirill's shoulders, like he has done when leading him away from the river. Kirill smiles to himself, but resists the temptation of placing an arm around his friend's waist in turn, instead simply allowing Nikolai to lead him towards where all the noise is coming from. Soon he finds himself amid a jolly crowd of revellers that fills the river banks. In a shower of sparks of red and gold, an exploding rocket illuminates the Tower Bridge, casting it into a bright light before they fade out, the sparks glittering feebly as they sink towards the waves. "Well, happy New Year," Nikolai says.
"You too, Kolya. But it's not midnight yet."
They make their way through the crowd, until they reach the Obelisk by the riverside, attended by the pair of stone sphinxes. Kirill wonders if Nikolai knows about the popular myth that this is a haunted place, but then again, why bother him with that silly superstition? Nikolai was right, this is a nice place to watch the fireworks, if perhaps not quite as private as Kirill would have liked it to be. But he will certainly not complain, or else…
This is paranoia, he tells himself. Why do you think everybody sees a queer in you?
Because everybody does.
Try not to be such a fucking idiot, Kirill thinks, exasperated with himself. But still the uncomfortable feeling remains, like the buzzing of a fly at the back of his head.
They lean against the sphinx on the right side, the one with the shrapnel marks on its pedestal, which have fascinated Kirill greatly when he was a child. Near them, there is a group of young men, but Kirill does not heed them. Like Nikolai has said, for now there is nobody in the world except the two of them.
Nikolai shivers slightly, and Kirill gives him his coat, pointing out that he is wearing a warm sweater, and making it clear that this is an order. Finally Nikolai agrees and gratefully puts it on, and Kirill feels as smug as he has not felt for some time, not since the day when he managed to get the bottles of wine so cheaply and was showing them to Nikolai… before his father arrived and spoiled everything, and then it resulted in a quarrel with Nikolai as well, which was even worse.
"Hey," Kirill says, trying to sound as casual as he can, "sorry about accusing you of trying to steal my place with my father. It was stupid of me." Again he discovers that apologising can be a lot easier than he usually thinks it is.
"No offence taken."
Kirill sees that one of the men nearby is glancing over at them and switches into Russian, just to be safe. "Try not to laugh. You're my best friend in the world. More like my brother, really."
"Why would that be a laughing matter? Oh, Kiryusha…" Nikolai playfully tousles his hair. "I never would laugh at you, not when you're being sincere."
"And when am I ever sincere?" Kirill jokes, because he still feels safer when he is not.
"A justified question," Nikolai states, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his hand in frustration. "No cigarettes."
"Good for your health," Kirill grins.
"Do you have any?"
"No. I don't smoke." He laughs. "Not much, anyway."
"And when you do, you always smoke mine."
"Exactly." Why buy cigarettes when he approximately smokes once a month? He does not like it much, anyway. "Here's an idea: Why don't you quit entirely and start smoking a pipe instead? It's much more stylish."
"It would be Tolkien style, certainly." Nikolai chuckles. "If you really don't drink for the rest of the winter, I'll think on it."
"Hey, hey!" Kirill protests. "No alcohol at all? I won't get drunk if you want, but you can't forbid me –"
"You've had so much recently that you'll be on a permanent high 'til spring," Nikolai cuts in, smiling. "No, seriously. Give the men a show of true character."
"They don't give a fuck if I drink or not!"
"Yes they will. You're the boss now."
Well, Nikolai certainly has a point, although Kirill still sees nothing wrong with a small glass from time to time. However, the question is if he will be able to discipline himself.
Yes, he decides, he will. He can, if he only wants to, especially if his father is not around to cause him to want to forget something all the time. He can be in charge, and he can show willpower. And Nikolai believes in him. "Fine," he agrees. "I'm the boss, I won't drink, and if I ever catch you smoking without asking my permission first, your name will be Gollum from then on."
"Tyrant," Nikolai says and laughs. "Now wait a minute, who is it Maria always begs to do the Gollum voice?"
"That proves nothing. She wants me to do everything. Besides, she thinks my best role still is Captain Hook."
"No doubt of it," Nikolai agrees with a grin, and at the thought of how his friend had to play the part of the crocodile once Kirill grins as well.
But as it occurs to him that Nikolai still has not told him what exactly it was he has done with that girl of his, Kirill feels the grin fading once more.
For some time they watch the colourful bursts of light in silence, shoulder to shoulder, and yet so far apart somehow. The minutes drift by, but Kirill cannot find the courage to speak. What should he say? All that comes to his mind is unimportant. And how could he ever express the turmoil of sentiments, the maelstrom raging inside him as joy battles anguish and hope cannot overcome loss?
It is but ten minutes from midnight now. The old year is flying away, fading rapidly, and with it the chapter of their story that still needs an ending, so that they can make a new beginning. But Kirill is no poet; he cannot finish it.
"So, little brother," Nikolai says at last. "This is it, eh?"
"Yeah, guess this is it." Kirill shrugs a little uncomfortably.
"Was it a good year?"
"I dunno. What d'you think?"
"Yes," Nikolai says firmly. "Yes, it was."
"In that case, it was." Kirill watches the hand on the huge face of the Big Ben move forward a fraction. It was, and soon it will be gone. This creates a vaguely sad atmosphere, a feeling he remembers from previous years.
"And a good time ahead, I hope."
"No doubt, as long as you're with me." That was cheesy, Kirill thinks angrily, but at least it was something.
"Always, Kiryusha, always." Kirill feels how his friend gently takes his hand in his, and he does not pull away, despite being in public. Nobody is paying attention to them, anyway, and their hands are half hidden in the folds of his coat that is lying around Nikolai's shoulders. "Man, no Chechen in the world can keep me away from you."
Despite himself, Kirill laughs at this. It seems that joy is gaining the upper hand once more. "You know, I'm glad you didn't say something overly poetic this time, because I seriously suck at this kind of thing. You're so good with words, and here I come, a great big fucking buffoon as soon as I open my mouth. All I could do is quote some Nightwish lyrics at you, but that's about as poetic as it's gonna get with me."
"As I keep telling you, don't worry about it." Nikolai gives his hand a little squeeze. "I'm not your girlfriend or anything, so I don't expect poetry from you."
"Eh. Then I'd probably have to ask you to marry me or something in this situation."
Nikolai chuckles. "Be glad I'm not."
"You bet I am. Although…" Kirill takes a deep breath. "If you were a woman, I'd totally fall in love with you."
After this, Kirill does not dare to look at him, but he can hear the smile in his friend's voice. "Coming from someone with the romantic capacity of a refrigerator, this must be a real compliment."
"Hey, it's you who's the fridge person among us!" Kirill protests. Above them, bright fireworks dye the dark sky red for an instant. "You're the cold sort of guy."
"Only on the outside."
"I know."
And as they fall silent once again, Kirill feels more comfortable than just before, because they have reached a certain understanding now. He can feel the bond again, warm and gentle against his chilling fears and doubts, just as soothing as the touch of Nikolai's hand that still rests in his. The story is almost complete now.
"Any resolutions?" Nikolai speaks up again after some time. His features are sharply outlined in the changing flashes of red, green and gold.
"No. I never stick to them anyway. But perhaps…" Should he make another attempt? "Something like a pledge, maybe." A love pledge? Does he dare to utter it at all? And if he does, will Nikolai not turn away from him because he will despise him, just like his father? No, Nikolai does not care about what others say, and he has certainly never yet pulled away from his touch. To be exact, the way Nikolai has held him and stroked his arm and caressed his cheek at times goes beyond what his father would find acceptable just as well.
Go ahead, say it. Don't chicken out again. "Kolya…"
No, he cannot say it. He absolutely cannot.
"Yes?" Nikolai's voice is very gentle, as gentle as earlier on, when he has taken the baby from him. Whatever he says, Nikolai will not laugh.
But how can he say that? Damn it, this is what one tells a woman, but certainly not his best friend!
But Nikolai is different. Nikolai is special.
"Come on," Nikolai teases him fondly, squeezing his hand – which is not exactly what friends do, either – "are you going to tell me before next year?"
Alright. No backing out now.
Why does his throat have to feel so dry suddenly? And why does it seem to him that his palms are moist with perspiration? Damn, Nikolai is going to notice this, he is still holding his hand, after all!
Kirill summons up all his courage. "I love you," he mumbles, wishing he could disappear into a crack in the ground.
And just as the clock strikes midnight and the crowd erupts into cheers, Nikolai pulls him into a tight embrace, ignoring all the people around them. "That's the nicest thing anyone has told me for a very long time."
Kirill nuzzles his face into the collar of his coat, feeling his cheeks positively burning, while Nikolai's fingers play with the curls at the back of his head. That his friend has not backed away from him or laughed makes him fall in love with him all over again, and for once he is not ashamed of the sentiment.
So softly that his voice is almost inaudible above the bursts of the fireworks greeting the new year, Nikolai whispers, "I will follow you, my brother, my captain, my king."
Of course Kirill recognises the slightly altered quote, and it makes him smile. "Hey, that wasn't in the book," he teases his friend as Nikolai lets go of him again and gazes up at the colourfully illuminated sky. "Since when have you substituted it for the movie, you expert?"
"Since when have you been a book purist?" Nikolai retorts, clearly amused.
Kirill shrugs. Of course he is not, but there is only so much personal sincerity he can take without feeling embarrassed, so resorting to teasing is a welcome relief, although this moment just now has meant very much to him. "One of us has to, right?"
Still, it is childish of him to change the tone, just because he has an odd tendency to feel awkward when he is serious in personal matters. He should get used to it. So he adds, "Want some genuine Tolkien?" This is a compromise; he is not entirely serious, but he is not joking either.
"Go ahead, then."
So Kirill speaks the words that have, for some reason, always brought tears to his eyes when reading them, words that have burned themselves into his memory like few other parts of The Lord of the Rings. He has never expected to utter them to anyone, because back then he has never thought he would ever know such friendship and brotherly love. "I'm glad you're with me, Kolya, here at the end of all things."
And this is how this story ends, on the Embankment on New Year's Eve, with the birth of a new year. But life goes on. It always does. The world turns towards morning, and a new story is about to begin, a new chapter in an open book.
"So," Nikolai says at last. "My compliments and best wishes to the newly crowned king."
"My compliments to the man behind the throne," Kirill smiles. Whatever he is going to do in the difficult times that lie ahead, it will be lightened by the presence of a brother and friend.
"Well, Kiryusha, isn't this one of your excuses to celebrate?" Nikolai gives him a playful nudge in the ribs. "You might buy me a drink."