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Pete remembers seeing him for the first time a month ago. The long-planned move was carried out only at the end of November. Then, when it was difficult to go outside without the risk of ending up in the emergency room. Everything seemed too cold, bland, and slippery. Pete then picked up the last box from the truck and almost ran nose to nose with a guy in a mid-thigh coat.
The legs are already moving apart on the poorly sprinkled sidewalk, and here is this... in a coat. But something keeps Pete from letting out angry emotions. Maybe too strict, but such a sad look, which the guy immediately hides to the side. And yet - Pete even feels ashamed - the presence of a cane. Pete bats his eyelashes, and then a smile softens his expression. Still holding the box in front of him, he politely suggests:
"Take the way, please."
But his politeness affects the guy in a completely unexpected way. Sharply raising his dark, almost obsidian eyes at him, he answers sternly:
"Take the way."
"Uh, no... you go first," Pete says cheerfully, trying to defuse the situation.
"I told you, take the way."
Pete opens his mouth dumbfounded, but then silently closes it, grunts and walks forward to his entrance. There is an uncomfortable shuffling and clattering of the metal end of the cane on the ice behind his back. Pete slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy is literally moving forward one step at a time. The toe of the right shoe is too unnaturally turned outwards. And in general, he can be said to drag his entire right leg behind him. It's like it doesn't even bend at the knee. Pete bites his lip, draws his eyebrows to the bridge of his nose and sadly trudges back to himself. Damn... so young and - well, handsome... but.... I also stood there like an idiot and smiled. Pete shrugs his shoulders. Okay, he probably forgot. You never know how many idiots he meets on his way.
The next time Pete, who is slowly settling in a new place, meets him after getting out of the house for shopping. Today is Saturday, and a brand new fridge would be nice to load at least for a couple of days. To say that it's slippery today is to keep silent. Pete immediately slides along the sidewalk, not knowing how to get to the parking lot, which is a hundred meters from the house. Neither the special sole on his winter sneakers helps, nor his ability to keep balance. A herd of cows on the ice would have looked more elegant than Pete, spreading his arms wide and waving them back and forth.
"Fuck!.."
His balancing tricks do not help, he is flying at the speed of light on the ice.
"Ah... it hurts so hard..."
Realizing that somehow it is necessary to get up, Pete gets on all four limbs and tries to get out of this position. And he flies flat on the ice again.
"Let me help you," a familiar stern voice is heard above him. And it also smells like something tart and sweet at the same time.
However, today the voice sounds a little warmer and more sympathetic. Pete turns his head and shakes his head, flushed with embarrassment:
"No, no, no, it's already slippery here, and you..."
And he stops, biting his tongue.
"What am I?"
Damn, why am I such an idiot?
"Uh... nothing. It's just that I'm on my own, and you go... just be careful, it's very slippery."
The guy grins wryly, and the wind blows waves of his dark hair up to his shoulders:
"Grab it," Pete is offered his left hand in a black suede glove. "Come on?"
Pete - damn this weather! - takes hold of his hand, trying his best to transfer his own weight to the knees. After a while, he stands next to this strong guy and doesn't know how to get the redness out of his face.
"I'm so awkward. Thank you."
"It's okay. But how will you go further?" the guy removes the hair that gets into his eye.
"Well, I have to get to the car. It's there," Pete waves somewhere behind him. "Uh... should I give you a ride somewhere?"
The guy grins and shake his head in response:
"I'll take a walk."
"The ice is terrible."
"I have an ice pick in my cane. Nowhere without it in this weather."
Pete takes a breath. And again, his nose is tickled by this fragrance. Hmm...
"Well, yes. It's a nice thing... oh."
Pete stares at the guy in horror. Well, who pulled my tongue!
"Yes. Indeed," his saviour answers quite calmly. "Okay. Have a nice weekend."
Pete watches for a couple more minutes as the guy shuffles away from him. I should have insisted and given him a ride. Why is it that when I really need it, I always forget to take my tongue out of my ass!
With the same shuffle, Pete almost sidles to the parking lot, starting to feel confident only behind the wheel. The store is one block away. But with such icy conditions, there is no way out. Pete sends to the trolley rice in serving bags, noodles, seafood cocktails, steak, vegetables, fruits, almond milk and tea. He also takes a bag of fresh rolls and goes to the self-service ticket counters. There are a couple of people in line for each one. And among them, Pete recognizes his savior. In a basket on a high trolley he has a mixture for ginger biscuits, a dozen eggs, bread and ground coffee. Pete manages to read "Irish Cream" when the guy turns around and, following his curious gaze, asks:
"Love?"
"Uh... who?"
"Ahem. Irish cream?"
"Ah..." well, now, of course, he is finally convinced of what kind of a moron I am, "I don't know. I mean, I've never tried it."
The guy chuckles and smiles mysteriously. And then suddenly he frowns in front of him again and silently turns away to the cash register.
So we talked. Perfect.
At the exit, Pete gathers up the courage and blocks his way, blurting out:
"I'll give you a ride back! No objections!"
The guy smiles again and shakes his head:
"Thanks, but..."
"Ve-gas!"
They both turn around, watching a handsome guy get out of the car, maybe a little younger than them. He grabs his someone by the elbow, takes a shopping bag in his other hand, and, winking at Pete, takes this Vegas to the car.
Well yes. I could have guessed.
Pete pulls down the collar of his jacket at his neck and shuffles loudly, with a slight sadness, to his car.
***
Today, Pete, forgetting about any smart looks, confidently gets out of the car in special ice shoes. Being dozens of meters from the house, he notices Vegas frozen in one place.
Damn...
"Hey! Has the pick stuck in the ice?" he asks anxiously, coming closer.
Vegas looks up at him with sad eyes and quietly replies:
"Not really…"
"Uh, then what? Are you feeling dizzy?" Pete, having given up on everything, stands very close and sympathetically stretches out his hands to the guy's shoulders.
Vegas bites his lips. Pete is trying to defuse the situation without a second thought:
"Hey, hey, don't do that in the cold, then it will hurt to kiss."
Vegas grins, but not funny at all.
"What happened? Can I help you get somewhere? I'm wearing safety shoes today," Pete stamps his feet provocatively, "so I'll take you anywhere without any problems. Wherever you say."
Vegas blushes and exhales. It's easy to see how uncomfortable he is:
"I have a new prosthesis. I haven't fully figured out everything with it yet, apparently…'
The prosthesis... Pete's stomach is twisting. No, of course, he guessed that there was a problem with the leg. But he pushed the thought of such a thing away from himself in every possible way. And now he stands in front of this guy and realizes that he will never be able to leave here alone without any help in such cold and on this damned ice.
"That's it. Listen. Of course, I'm not an expert. But if you tell me how I can help you, I'll do my best."
Vegas nods briefly and still answers quietly:
"I would be very grateful if you could help me get to the apartment."
"Oh, okay," Pete looks around Vegas, calculating something in his head, and then bends down as if he wants to pick him up in his arms, "now!"
"Uh, what are you going to do?" Vegas shrinks back fearfully, almost falling, but Pete manages to grab him.
"And what is needed? I'm sorry, I misunderstood you, I guess…"
"Indeed. Completely misunderstood."
Pete blinks absently and then smiles sheepishly:
"That's it. Let's do it again. What should I do?"
Vegas takes a deep breath, his shoulders still covered by Pete's hands:
"Can I lean on your shoulder?"
"Of course. But how will it help? Has it — I'm sorry for such a stupid question — has your prosthesis completely fallen off? Is it kept at the expense of the pant leg?"
Vegas chuckles a little, much more fun already:
"No. It works differently. But the fastening is loose, I can't control my leg myself."
"Got it... probably," Pete giggles nervously, but immediately makes a serious face, "I still suggest the first way."
"I'm heavy."
"And I'm strong."
Vegas squints, and the falling snow beautifully covers his dark curls:
"I believe you. But... I live on the third floor."
"Mmm, in the next doorway?"
"Yes."
"So it's a piece of cake! That's it, no objections. You and I have been standing here longer than I would have done all this already."
And before Vegas can object, Pete scoops him up in his arms:
"All right, let's move, Terminator... oh, sorry, my long tongue is just a disaster."
Pete ostentatiously clenches his teeth and makes a guilty look, but Vegas calms him down:
"Well, it's kind of funny. Hmm," the guy grins again, "I guess it is."
"Hush, don't make me laugh, you're really heavy," Pete puffs, "and hold it there, otherwise we'll lose it on the way."
Vegas almost chokes on laughter and looks with condescending reproach: who else is making someone laugh here.
Pete lets him go just before the door:
"Where do you have the keys?"
"In my pocket. But now I'm on my own. Thank you so much…"
"Pete."
"Vegas."
Pete squints and nods:
"I have no intention of intruding at all, but I need to make sure you get to the couch safely and deal with this thing."
"Actually, if you have time, I'd treat you with a coffee."
"Irish cream?"
"Yep."
"With pleasure. And I have plenty of time."
Especially for you, Pete almost blurts out, but stops himself in time.
Once inside, Pete, as promised, helps Vegas find himself on the couch in a warm but slightly gloomy living room. Everyone has a Christmas tree here at this time. But it's like Vegas is not waiting for Christmas at all.
"I'm sorry, this doesn't sound very hospitable, but could you come out, I'll deal with the prosthesis now, and then I'll make us coffee. Sit in the kitchen for a while. Is it okay?"
"No problem. Don't apologize."
While Vegas settles his issues, Pete waits patiently in his kitchen. It's much brighter here, and Pete also sees a snow globe in the middle of the table. He takes it in his hand and frowns: obviously the glass globe was damaged. There is no liquid inside, and there are very few snowflakes. Only two redbirds on a branch, huddled together forlornly.
"I dropped it. It didn't crash, but everything leaked out."
Pete puts the snow globe back down and looks at Vegas, lurking in the doorway:
"Do you like this sort of stuff?"
"Yeah. It was a pity to throw it away."
Pete smiles, nodding at his right leg.:
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes. There will be coffee now. Sorry to keep you waiting."
"Oh, that's enough with apologies. What's wrong with that?"
Vegas shrugs his shoulders. Then he goes to the lockers, takes out coffee, a turk and begins to conjure a drink with a divine smell. Soon, a cup of fragrant Irish cream appears in front of Pete, as well as a basket of gingerbread cookies.
"I've never tasted anything better!" Pete sincerely admires, catching a confused obsidian look at himself.
Then they chat, telling each other a little about themselves. However, Vegas deftly changes the subject when Pete tries to find out about the leg. But he doesn't insist either. They scold this ice and laugh, remembering all the incidents. After about half an hour of their gatherings in the kitchen, Vegas receives a message. He apologizes again and quickly types a reply. Pete tries not to be sad. But when he realizes that the guy probably needs a rest, asks if there is anything else he can do for him, Vegas answers:
"Thank you again. Don't worry. They're coming to see me soon."
It's impossible not to be sad.
"Oh, good. Then... thanks a lot for the coffee and gingerbread."
"My pleasure."
Vegas walks him to the door:
"See you, Pete."
"Of course."
Pete stands there, not really wanting to leave. But this is already indecent. Outside, he puts his hands in the pockets and wanders thoughtfully to his apartment. And the next day after work, he stops by the store with all sorts of Christmas stuff. There he stares at a showcase with snow globes for a long time. He does not find an exact copy, but decides that the two cute red-bellied bullfinches on the branch look no worse than those redbirds.
***
Christmas is only a couple of days away. Pete is not sure that it will be convenient to come to him on a holiday to give a gift. So he puts the green-wrapped box in his jacket pocket and heads to Vegas' place. Just before the door, Pete clearly begins to hear his heartbeats. He presses the bell button and waits. Vegas, in sweatpants and a T-shirt, opens the door and looks somewhat surprised at the embarrassed smiling guy.
"Hi, Pete. You…"
"Hey. You know, I just thought," Pete fumbles with his sweaty fingers through the box in his pocket, "perhaps I won't see you at Christmas. So…"
"Vegas! Shall I take the coffee off the stove?" a familiar young voice is heard from the kitchen.
Pete has the feeling of a twisted stomach again. And a fallen heart. Well, that's what I came for... you are an idiot, buddy.
"Ah... you're not alone, I'm sorry. I'll... I'll go, then. Merry Christmas!" Pete blurts out in the last verge of despair.
"Why don't you have breakfast with us?" Vegas asks casually.
"No, what are you... I mean, I've already eaten. Thank you. Well, I'll go," Pete giggles nervously and waves at Vegas, "have a nice day!"
Idiot, idiot, idiot!.. What an idiot I am!
Pete is angry at himself for his naivety, for not giving away the gift, for stupid jealousy and resentment, which he does not even have the right to.
Having calmed down more or less only by the evening, Pete sees Vegas again today, this time standing at his entrance. What happened to him?
"Hey. Can I help you?"
"Hey," Vegas looks at him with quiet hope in his eyes, "you ran away so quickly in the morning, and I didn't have time to ask: do you have any plans for Christmas?"
Pete shrugs his shoulders.
"With family and friends?"
Pete shakes his head:
"My family lives far away. There are few friends, but everyone has something planned."
"Got it," Vegas makes an attempt to smile, "come to my place. If you like, of course."
Pete almost jumps on the spot. But for some reason he clarifies:
"Won't I bother you?"
"And how can you?" Vegas grins.
Pete shrugs his shoulders. And Vegas adds:
"Well, that's what we decided then. Can you make it by four?"
"Of course. It's going to be a day off."
"Great!"
"What are you drinking? I'm talking about what to bring with me"
"Uh... actually, I'm still on therapy, alcohol is not allowed. But there is a bottle of champagne for the guests at home. Or bring what you want yourself."
Pete smiles, forgetting about his own warning and biting his lips:
"You'll make your own delicious coffee. And it will be enough."
"Good. Then, will I see you the day after tomorrow?"
"Yes. See you."
Pete comes to visit five minutes earlier. Today Vegas is wearing a sweater with a Scandinavian ornament, beige trousers and special shoes. And also a stunningly bright smile and a sparkle in his eyes. Pete, in his modest jumper over a shirt and jeans, is even a little shy. But the cheerful voice of the owner erases all embarrassment:
"Come in quickly!"
A festive dinner is served in the kitchen. Lots of snacks, roasted goose in the center of the table and side dishes. And it also smells so sweet and tart from a bag of "Irish cream".
"Wow! There's a whole feast here!"
"No, it's all very modest. Please sit down."
Pete nods and... only now notices that the table is set for three. Okay... okay, so what? We can still communicate...
Of course, Pete is lying. He would like to do more than just communicate with Vegas. But there's nothing to be done.
The doorbell rings. Vegas is in a hurry to inform:
"Well, Macau has come. Do you mind if he sits with us?"
Pete opens his mouth slightly: is that what he's asking me?
"Well... how can I be against him?"
Vegas holds a suspicious look at him for a few seconds, smiles at something of his own and leaves the kitchen. Pete tries not to listen to the sounds from the hallway. It hurts to listen to how they are there... that's it, it's none of my business.
After a while, the same guy from the parking lot at the store appears in the kitchen. He greets Pete in a very friendly way, who doesn't understand his line of behavior yet, and then all three of them sit down at the table. Pete, of course, does not have much appetite, but in order not to offend Vegas, he gradually tries several dishes, all the while praising the cooking. Macau jokes a lot, talks about some adventures with friends, which makes Pete even more suspicious: okay, you're having fun with your friends, and your boyfriend has to hang out at home and walk in the dreadful ice for a walk?
"And if we have coffee in the living room? What do you say?" Vegas offers.
Pete and Macau nod, and while the friendly host is busy with a hot drink, Pete looks at the slightly changed situation in the living room. A small artificial fir tree with fluffy branches covered with frost appeared here. And underneath there is a gift bag from Macau. And another box in a red wrapper.
"This is probably for you," Macau winks at Pete.
"What makes you think so?"
"Well, that's it. You'll see."
At this point, the phone starts vibrating. At first, Macau listens to the female voice on that line with a smile, and then answers:
"Yes, baby, yes, I'll be there in an hour. That's it, don't sulk, kiss you!"
Baby?.. Well, no, this is too much!
"Listen, you!" Pete rises to his feet with the most menacing look, "what is this supposed to mean?! If he's like that," Pete nods towards the kitchen, "can you treat him this way?!"
"Uh... I don't get it, what are you talking about?" Macau also stands up, spreading his hands in disbelief.
"What am I talking about?! You have a boyfriend a few meters away in the kitchen, and you're sending kisses to some babies?! Do you have at least a drop of conscience and humanity?!"
"A boyfriend?.." Macau giggles, shaking his head, "Oh!"
"What's going on here?" Vegas appears at the noise, shuffling with his right foot.
"Uh, Vegas, didn't you tell Pete about me?" Macau does not stop laughing, "so, brother, figure out your adult affairs here. Merry Christmas! I won't have coffee, no offense, they're waiting for me. And," Macau quickly hugs Vegas and looks back at Pete, who is taken aback, "don't get into a fight. Vegas is a real fighter, just know that."
When Macau leaves, Pete looks at Vegas with such despair that the latter tilts his head and puts his left hand behind his head, hiding a smile in the crook of his elbow.
"So Macau is your…"
"My younger brother," Vegas looks at Pete from under his brows, "I'm sorry I didn't make it clear right away. For some reason, I was sure that you would guess."
"I didn't guess."
"I've already figured it out."
Pete comes closer and clarifies:
"Really... brother?"
"Really."
Pete has a lot off his shoulders. He clearly wants to say something else, but does not dare. Then Vegas starts talking on his own:
"I do not know your exact intentions, but I am not blind, Pete. So let's get something straight."
"Good. What exactly?"
Vegas taps his fingertips on his right thigh:
"It won't grow back, you know? It's for all life."
"Vegas…"
"Wait a minute. I will finish. So that's what else… I don't have a job at the moment. I live on disability benefits. Although, no, not exactly like that... before losing my leg, I managed to earn some extra money. However, it doesn't matter anymore. Everyone pays their price," here Vegas pauses briefly, and then continues to speak. "And the problem is not that they don't offer me a job or take me anywhere.… The problem is with me. I don't believe I can be really useful anywhere... with this eternal turtle walk. I also wake up at night and scream. It seems to me all the time that it hurts. But it doesn't hurt. It just doesn't exist."
When he's finished, Vegas can't stand Pete's gaze and walks away to the window. Slowly, shuffling, hunched over. Pete throws up his arms, steps after him and hugs him from behind, resting his head on the firm shoulder and leaning his cheek against his temple:
"When I saw you, I was just fucked up by your beauty! And you're also so strong, smart, and kind. You don't have to warn me about the difficulties. It's me who should be afraid that such a cool guy will ever like such a clumsy and absent-minded creature with an eternal goofy smile."
At this moment, Vegas covers his hands with his own and whispers:
"It's not goofy. It's very sweet and warm."
Pete carefully turns him in his hands, leans into Vegas' face, asking:
"May I?"
After receiving a nod of approval, Pete kisses Vegas. Sweet, warm and languidly slow, savoring every roughness given to his lips by frost. And then he hugs him tightly. He pulls away. He kisses Vegas again. And he hugs again. And only the smell of coffee that escaped on the fire makes both of them return to the kitchen. They're laughing. Vegas guiltily covers his face with his hand, and Pete kisses him on the cheek:
"I still haven't given you a Christmas present. Now!"
"I have a gift for you too."
In less than a minute, happy laughter fills the whole space again. From the kitchen table, through the snow-covered glass globes, two couples of bullfinches will be looking at them.