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Nikita hated how easy it was to fall apart around Artyom. Not dramatically. Not in ways anyone else would notice.It happened quietly instead.
In the way his body leaned closer before his mind caught up In how his hands stopped shaking the second Artyom touched him.In how every room felt colder after he left it.
That was the humiliating part. How natural it all felt. Like loving him had rooted itself somewhere too deep to remove cleanly.The bedroom was dim and overheated, heavy with cigarette smoke and winter air dragged in from the cracked-open window beside the bed.
Nikita sat against the wall near the headboard, knees bent slightly while Artyom laid stretched beside him on his stomach, absentmindedly flipping through pages of some old notebook he clearly wasn’t reading. Neither of them had spoken much in the last ten minutes. Still, the silence wasn’t empty. It pressed close around them instead.
Warm.
Dense.
Breathing.
Nikita stared down at Artyom’s hands as he turned another page.
Long fingers.
Small scars near his knuckles.
Ink smudged against the side of his thumb.
Nikita knew those hands too well. The realization made something ache unpleasantly in his chest.
“You’re staring holes into me,”
Artyom murmured without looking up.
Nikita immediately looked away toward the window.
“You say that every time I look at you.”
“Because you keep looking at me like you’re miserable about this.”
That hit harder than it should have. Nikita swallowed once, slow.
Outside, snow drifted lazily beneath the streetlights, pale against the dark. He focused on that instead of the taller boy sitting beside him.
“You ever wish you could forget somebody?” he asked quietly. Artyom finally glanced up then.
His expression didn’t change much, but his attention sharpened immediately.
“That sounds dramatic,” he said.
“It’s a real question.”
A pause.
Then Artyom shut the notebook and tossed it aside onto the blankets.
“It Depends, who.”
Nikita laughed softly under his breath.
Not because anything was funny. Because of course he answered like that. Always making Nikita say things first. Always making him step forward while Artyom stood perfectly still.
“I think about you too much,” Nikita finally admitted embarrassed.
The words made the room feel smaller afterward Artyom stayed quiet. Nikita hated that too. Hated how silence from him somehow felt heavier than actual rejection.
“I’ll hear your name somewhere and it ruins my whole thought process for the day.”
Nikita continued before he could stop himself.
“Or I’ll see something stupid that reminds me of you and then I can’t stop thinking about you for hours.”
Artyom watched him carefully now.
Too carefully.
Nikita’s voice weakened.
“It’s like you got stuck inside my head somehow.”
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Artyom shifted closer across the mattress slowly until his shoulder pressed against Nikita’s side. Warmth immediately spread through him in response.
Embarrassing.
Automatic.
Artyom noticed the reaction instantly. Nikita could tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitched faintly afterward.
“You make it sound painful,” he murmured.
“It is.”
The answer came too fast. Too honest.
Artyom’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment after that.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do.”
“No.” His voice stayed calm Certain.
“If it hurt that badly, you would’ve left already.”
Nikita looked down hard at his hands.
Because that was the worst part.
He was right.
No matter how much loving him hollowed him out sometimes, Nikita still kept coming back like his body knew the route better than his brain did.
Artyom leaned back slightly against the pillows beside him, eyes still fixed on Nikita’s face.
“You look exhausted,” he said quietly.
Nikita let out a weak laugh.
“Probably because of you.”
“Mm. That sounds about right.”
There was something unfair about how relaxed he looked all the time. Meanwhile Nikita felt held together with loose thread whenever Artyom got too close. The mattress shifted slightly beneath them as Artyom turned more toward him.
Close enough now that Nikita could feel warmth against his throat every time he spoke.
“You know what your problem is?”
Artyom murmured.
Nikita huffed softly.
“Here we go.”
“You treat this like something happening to you.”
“What is that supposed to mean.”
“It means,” Artyom said slowly, reaching out and grabbing his hand gently
“you act like I forced you into this.”
Nikita’s breath caught slightly. Not because of the words. Because of the touch. Always because of the touch.
“You Didnt…?”
he asked quietly almost questioning his own response.
Artyom smiled a little at that Not nice Not cruel either. Just knowing.
“You stayed.”
The words settled heavily between them. Nikita hated how true they were. Because even now, sitting here aching with it, he still.
wanted more.
More attention.
More closeness.
More of whatever this was.
Like starving people wanting food even when it hurts to eat. Artyom’s hand slid slowly from Nikita’s wrist up toward his jaw, thumb brushing once beneath his lower lip. Nikita’s eyes shut briefly on instinct. The movement was so small. Still devastating.
“There,”
Artyom murmured softly, almost amused now.
“That.”
Nikita opened his eyes again slowly.
“What.”
“That look.”
“What look.”
“The one where you’d let me get away with basically anything its pathetic almost.”
Heat crawled violently up Nikita’s neck.
Because he didn’t even know how to deny it anymore. Artyom leaned closer then, forehead nearly brushing his.
“So tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
Nikita’s lips parted Nothing came out.
And they both knew why.