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In the crowded bar pulsating with the vibrant and addicting energy of Eurovision, Alexander sat amidst a sea of faces, yet he felt like a solitary island amidst an unforgiving ocean.
Each round of laughter and cheers around him only served to accentuate his profound sense of isolation. In his seat at the bar where he was barely avoiding brushing shoulders and thighs with the people sitting on either side of him, Alexander felt crushingly alone.
As he gazed across the room, he wondered if there were others like him, wrestling with the same inner turmoil, concealing their true selves beneath a facade of acceptance, those with a public persona that was in conflict with their private persona - just like Alexander's were.
He found it rather unlikely. For not many had reason to hide their true nature as he did.
With a heavy sigh, Alexander drained his drink, the bitter taste mirroring the bitterness in his soul. He motioned for another, hoping the alcohol would numb the ache in his heart and help him forget his struggles, if only momentarily.
The bartender's smile flickered briefly as they leaned close to grab his empty glass, a fleeting reflection of the joy Alexander longed to feel. As the lights danced across the bartender's face, Alexander couldn't help but envy his carefree demeanor, a stark contrast to the heavy cloak of secrecy he wore. His turn had allowed the colourful lights of the bar to dance across his face, accentuating his bright green eyes and highlighting his handsome features, his sharp cheekbones and his full lips, as he focused on shaking Alexander's drink as another customer told them their order.
Alexander forced himself to stop staring and averted his eyes, turning to look at the stage were one of the contestants was singing, trying to distract himself from the feelings he didn't want to feel.
The bartender slid him his finished drink, with Alexander accepted with a smile and a thanks, turning to watch the current performance as he sipped. Sweden's representative was singing, his dancers surrounding him as the crowd cheered and jumped. Alexander nodded his head to the beat, letting his mind drift as he listened to the music.
"He's great, isn't he?"
Alexander turned as someone spoke to him, his eyes meeting those of the man sitting on the barstool next to him, who was watching him with a soft grin.
"Ah," Alexander took a moment to pull himself out of his thoughts, pulling on the invisible masquerade mask that came with all of his interactions when playing the part of Russia's representative, "yes, yes. Very talented, although of course," Alexander laughed, waving a hand through the air flippantly, "not the best in the competition."
The man who had engaged Alexander in conversation was attractive - and although Alexander hated to admit it, he was just Alexander's type. Tall and lean, but obviously fit with toned arms that were defined under the bar lighting and a neatly trimmed beard and carefully styled short brown curls. His smile was bright, causing the skin around his eyes to wrinkle as his dark brown eyes shone in the light.
"Oh, you look so familiar," the man started, squinting as he looked at Alexander , his nose scrunched up as he concentrated, "...but I'm afraid I'm so overwhelmed with new faces and names right now. Who are you representing?"
"Russia," Alexander answered, holding his hand out for a handshake - which the man eagerly accepted. His grip was tight and confident, the man giving Alexander a firm handshake as he gasped in recognition.
"Ah, yes! Lion of Love, no?" The man grinned, releasing Alexander's hand, "of course my country's song is my favorite, but yours has been stuck in my head ever since I heard it! Simply wonderful."
"Yes, thank you." Alexander nodded, "I'm afraid I can't place you, I apologize..."
"No worries, no worries..." the man grinned, "I'm not a singer, I'm one of the dancers for Iceland - Sigrit and Lars, maybe you've heard their song? I'm Kristjan."
Sigrit and Lars, the Icelandic pair with the song 'Double Trouble'... Alexander had certainly heard of the disastrous duo.
Alexander snorted, "nice to meet you, Kristjan, Alexander. And it would be hard not to have heard of them, it's not every year that all but one of the Söngvakeppnin nominees gets blown up."
Alexander didn't mean to be rude, but it was quite obvious to anyone with a working brain that Sigrit and Lars would never have gotten past pre-selection if it wasn't for the untimely elimination of literally every single one of their opponents. Sigrit was talented, impressively so, but Lars...
Kristjan snorted, baring his sparkling white teeth in a awkward smile, "yeah, that was... an unfortunate tragedy. I was actually dancing for a different nominee, but of course that didn't work out, so they sent me to work with Lars and Sigrit."
Alexander turned the conversation away from the tragedy that had occured during Söngvakeppnin, instead focusing on dance choreography for their numbers - a topic that Kristjan didn't seem too disappointed to switch to. They had been talking for a good amount of time, countless songs having been sung in the background and the crowd cheering and bustling, when Kristjan carefully reached forward and set his hand on Alexander's thigh, his eyes half-lidded and a slightly drunken smile on his blushed face.
Alexander froze.
A wave of panic crashed over Alexander, threatening to engulf him in its relentless tide.
Oh no.
"You know," Kristjan started, "this has been a really nice night so far, with you. Perhaps you would like to...?"
Kristjan trailed off, but the implication was clear.
In that moment, Alexander was paralyzed by fear, the eyes of the world - of his homeland - bearing down on him, suffocating him with their judgment, with the threatening thoughts of what they would think if he said yes.
"I-I, ah," Alexander jerked back, his eyes wide as his heart froze in fear - there were people watching him, people he knew and people he didn't and there were cameras and livestreams and he could see one of his management team members only a few seats over and this wasn't supposed to happen, not here, and he had to stop this and get away, and- "I think you might have... misinterpreted this," Alexander laughed, forcing a painfully wide smile onto his face to show off his sparkling white teeth - which were just as fake as the rest of him, "I... there's been a miscommunication, I'm not..."
"Oh- oh!"
Kristjan leaned back, easily removing his hand from Alexander and waving off the awkwardness with a bright laugh that made Alexander's heart hurt.
"I am so sorry, my friend," he grinned, "it does look like I did misinterpret a few signals there. You are very handsome, but I understand you aren't interested. It is no worry!"
Oh, but he was interested. His refusal was just a desperate attempt to preserve the illusion he had painstakingly crafted, a facade that was crumbling beneath the weight of his own self-denial.
"Ah, thank you," Alexander lips curled into a perfect smile, the Russian the image of grace and understanding, but inside he was withering and drowning in self-hatred, "I enjoyed our conversation, very much. It was nice to meet you, I wish you well in the competition," Alexander curled his trembling fingers around his glass to hide the shaking, lifting the drink to a toast with a practiced smirk and wink, "although we know who'll take home the trophy."
Kristjan laughed, matching Alexander's toast and throwing back his drink as he stood, "I wish you luck, my new friend. Perhaps I'll see you around."
Alexander inclined his head as the man left, waiting for him to disappear into the bustling crowd until he dropped his smile and turned to call the bartender over. He closed his tab quickly, gathered his coat from the back of his barstool, and ran calmly exited the bar, avoiding eye contact from anyone as he left.
As the cold air of Edinburgh surrounded him, his thin jacket - the stylist that his management had assigned him definitely preferred dressing him for looks over comfort - barely blocking the chill as the clamour of the bar crowd fading into the sounds of traffic, Alexander shivered - but not from the cold.
He felt... he really just felt numb. He should have enjoyed himself at the bar, he should have mingled with his fellow contestants and made friends.
But, no, he just had to get distracted.
He... Alexander just wanted to be himself. He wanted to indulge in the pleasures his heart desired, he wanted to allow himself to enjoy himself and what - or who - he loved.
But, of course, Mother Russia stood between himself and his true desires.
So, as always, Alexander bottled all of the complex emotions inside his heart up and stuffed them away, ignoring them for another day.
And as he walked away, his steps faltering with each passing moment as a deep chill settled into his bones, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever find the courage to break free from the chains that bound him to a life of silent suffering, the societal intolerance that controlled so much of who he was allowed to be.
He didn't think so.