Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1: BoodBQ

The apartment smelled like burnt eggs and regret.

Nikolai stood in the doorway of their tiny kitchen, watching his brother attempt breakfast with the kind of determination usually reserved for playoff hockey. Dima had his back to him, shoulders hunched over the stove, muttering what sounded like threats in Russian at the frying pan.

At his feet, Bear shifted position. The mini German Shepherd had been curled in the doorway like a small, furry speed bump, tracking Mityusha's movements with the kind of intense focus he used for squirrels. Now he sat up, ears pricked forward, tail beginning to sweep across the floor.

"You are going to burn the building down," Nikolai said, switching to English because it felt less dramatic that way.

Dimochka didn't turn around. "Is fine."

"Is smoking."

"Is fine."

Bear sneezed, as if to say I'm with him on this one.

Nikolai crossed to the counter and started the coffee maker, a ritual so ingrained he could do it half-asleep. Which he was. The clock on the microwave read 11:47 AM, which meant Mityusha had been up for maybe twenty minutes and had already declared war on breakfast food. Bear followed him, settling at his feet with a soft huff, nose pressed against Nikolai's ankle.

The morning light filtered through their small kitchen window, catching on the plants he kept alive on the sill,a spider plant, two succulents, something leafy he'd found at a farmer's market and couldn't name. Signs of permanence he didn't quite trust yet.

Their apartment was small but theirs. One bedroom for Dima, one for Nikolai, a living room that doubled as storage for hockey equipment that never quite made it back to the arena. Russian tea boxes stacked beside Canadian coffee. Nikolai's photography prints on the walls,mostly landscapes, some abstract shots of the city, one of Dimochka mid-laugh that he'd caught by accident and loved too much to delete. A dog bed in the corner that Bear used mostly as a pillow while actually sleeping on the couch.

It smelled like home. Coffee and laundry detergent and whatever protein powder Mityusha had spilled last week that they still hadn't fully cleaned up. Dog. Definatly dog. Bear was starting to shed.

"You are nervous," Dima said, still not turning around.

Nikolai poured two mugs of coffee, black for both of them. "No."

"You made coffee."

"I always make coffee."

"You made it fast." Mityusha finally turned, spatula in hand, looking absurdly pleased with himself despite the smoke. He was built like a defenseman,broad and immovable, the kind of guy who looked like a Bond villain until he smiled. Right now he was smiling. "You only move fast when you are nervous."

Bear's tail thumped against the floor. He was watching Dimochka now, ears swiveling, clearly hoping burnt eggs might become floor eggs.

Nikolai handed Dima a mug and didn't answer, which was answer enough.

Mityusha's smile softened into something gentler. He switched to Russian, his voice dropping into the cadence of their childhood, the language they used when things mattered. "It's just a barbecue, Kolya. My teammates. Their families. Very boring."

"You said there would be many people."

"Maybe twenty."

Twenty. Nikolai's stomach did something complicated. He took a sip of coffee and burned his tongue. Bear whined softly, nudging his hand, and Nikolai reached down without thinking to scratch behind his ears. The fur was soft, warm. Grounding.

"You don't have to stay long," Dmitri continued, handing him the spatula to rescue what remained of the eggs. "We show up, we eat, we leave. Easy."

Nikolai glanced at his brother,six-foot-three, two hundred and twenty pounds of defenseman, currently wearing a hoodie that said OTTAWA CENTAURS in faded letters and holding a spatula like a weapon. Dimochka, who'd gotten them out. Who'd bought plane tickets which would have gotten them both killed and brought Nikolai to Canada when he was eighteen and broken and didn't believe in safe places.

Mityusha, who still checked that the door was locked three times before bed.

Nothing was ever easy. But Dmitri believed it could be, which was one of the fundamental differences between them. Dimochka had left Russia first, at twenty-one, after playing in juniors longer than he should have, with a hockey contract and a plan. He'd spent a year building a life here before he could bring Nikolai over. A year of learning English, finding an apartment, making sure everything was safe.

Nikolai had arrived broken.

Not visibly. He'd learned early how to hide it,how to smile when required, how to make himself small and unobtrusive, how to apologize before anyone could get angry. But Dima knew. Dimochka had grown up in the same house, with the same parents, the same survival instincts carved into their bones.

The difference was that Mityusha had escaped into hockey. Nikolai had escaped into silence.

Bear pressed closer, sensing the shift. The dog was attuned to him in ways Nikolai still didn't fully understand,could track his heartbeat, his breathing, the subtle change in his scent when anxiety started to coil in his chest. Where Nikolai went, Bear went. That was the rule. The only rule Nikolai didn't argue with.

"You're doing the thing," Dima said, switching to English. He did that when he wanted Nikolai to pay attention, to pull him out of his head.

"What thing?"

"The checking thing." Dima gestured vaguely at Nikolai's hands. "You've rearranged the salt and pepper three times."

Nikolai looked down. The salt and pepper shakers were perfectly symmetrical, with the two napkins under them turned at an angle and the plate sat perfectly diagonal to it with the forks lined up to the side. He hadn't noticed himself doing it.

"We don't have to go," Dima added, softer now. "I can tell Zane you're sick."

"I'm not sick."

"I can tell him I'm sick."

"You're never sick." Nikolai placed the buttered toast onto the plates. "And you already said yes."

"So? I'll say no now."

"I want to go," Nikolai said. It was mostly true.

Dimochka studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. But we leave when you want to leave."

"Okay."

"I mean it. You say the word, we're gone."

"I know."

"Even if I'm in the middle of a conversation-"

"Dima" Nikolai put the eggs on top. "I know."

Dima grinned, satisfied. "Good. Now give me my food."

Bear barked once, sharp and pointed. You forgot me.

Dimochka looked down at the dog, then at Nikolai. "He's coming, obviously."

"Obviously."

An hour later, Nikolai was regretting every decision that had led to this moment.

He'd changed his shirt three times. The first was too formal,a button-down that made him look like he was going to a job interview. The second was too casual,a t-shirt with a hole near the hem that he hadn't noticed until Dima pointed it out. The third was fine. Probably. A dark long-sleeved top that didn't draw attention, didn't say anything specific, just existed on his body in a way that hopefully wouldn't make people look at him too long.

Bear watched from the bed, head on his paws, tail giving an occasional thump of encouragement.

He was overthinking. He knew he was overthinking.

"You look good," Dima said from the doorway.

Nikolai turned. "I look like I'm trying too hard."

"You look like a person wearing a shirt."

"That's not reassuring."

"It's a barbecue, Nikusha. Not a wedding."

Nikolai pulled the long-sleeve off, reached for a plain black t-shirt instead. Bear lifted his head, ears cocked, as if to say really?

Dima sighed. "Okay, now you look like you're going to a funeral."

"I hate this."

"I know."

"Why did I agree to this?"

"Because you're trying," Mityusha said simply. "And I'm proud of you for that."

Nikolai froze, the shirt halfway over his head. When he pulled it down and looked at his brother, Mityusha was smiling,not teasing, just warm. The kind of smile that made Nikolai's chest hurt in a way he didn't have words for.

"The long sleeve was good," Dima added. "Wear the long sleeve."

Nikolai wore the long sleeve.

He checked his phone: 1:23 PM. Dimochka said they'd leave at 1:30.

Bear jumped off the bed, trotted to the door, and sat. Ready.

Nikolai opened his notes app and scrolled to the list he'd made last night:

• Address: 2847 Riverside Drive

• Time: 2:00 PM (arrive 2:15, not early)

• Host: Zane Boodram (Dima's teammate, winger, "very loud")

• Bring: nothing (Dima bringing beer)

• Exit strategy: text Dima if overwhelmed

He'd also looked up the address on Google Maps, checked the bus routes in case he needed to leave separately, and noted that there was a park two blocks away if he needed somewhere quiet.

Hypervigilance, his therapist called it. A trauma response. The need to know every exit, every variable, every possible outcome before walking into a situation.

Nikolai called it staying alive.

"Ready, Kolya?" Dima emerged from the bathroom looking like a cologne ad, all sharp jawline and carefully styled hair.

"You look ridiculous," Nikolai said.

"You look like you are going to funeral."

"Is my aesthetic."

Dimochka snorted and grabbed his keys. "Come. Before you change mind."

Bear was already at the door, tail wagging.

The drive to Riverside took twenty minutes, which Dimochka filled by explaining the roster like he was briefing Nikolai for a military operation.

"Zane is hosting," Dima said, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing emphatically. Bear was curled in the backseat, nose pressed to the cracked window, ears flapping in the breeze. "He is-how do you say-very much. Loud. Friendly. Will try to hug you."

"I do not want to be hugged."

"I know, Nikusha. I will tell him." Mityusha switched lanes. "His wife is Cassie. Very nice. They have son, Milo. Three years old. Sticky."

"Sticky?"

"All children are sticky. Is fact of life."

Nikolai made a mental note: avoid the child.

He stared out the window at the passing trees, the Rideau River glinting in the afternoon sun. Ottawa in July was green and humid, the kind of heat that made his camera lens fog up if he wasn't careful. Bear sneezed.

"Ilya will be there," Dima continued. "You remember Ilya."

Nikolai did. Ilya Rozanov, captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, dramatic and intense and somehow both intimidating and ridiculous at the same time. He'd met Ilya once, since he was eight, at a team event Dimochka had dragged him to last year. He hadn't seen Ilya for twelve years give or take and it was weird to see him now. He had spent the entire time speaking rapid-fire Russian and asking invasive questions about Nikolai's life. Nikolai had answered approximately none of them. He got why Ilya had asked them,they used to know everything about each other and their families,but his parents moved them away from Moscow and he never saw him again. Well, until now.

"He's going to interrogate me again," Nikolai said.

"Probably. He thinks you're interesting."

"I'm not interesting."

"You're Russian and you don't play hockey. To Ilya, that's like being a unicorn."

Nikolai slumped lower in his seat. Bear made a soft whining sound from the back, sensing his mood. "I want to go home."

"No you don't."

"I do."

"You want to want to go home," Dima corrected. "But you also want to try. So we're trying."

Nikolai didn't argue. Mityusha knew him too well.

"Nick will be there-he is alternate captain, very calm, you will like him. His boyfriend Boyle, also very calm. They are like-" Dima paused, searching for the word. "-team parents. Everyone goes to them with problems."

"I do not have problems."

Dimochka gave him a look that said we both know that is a lie but didn't push it.

He paused at a red light, glanced over. "Shane's quiet. You'll like Shane. He's Ilya's husband, but he's nothing like Ilya. He just sort of... exists peacefully."

"That sounds nice."

"It is. Troy's grumpy but harmless. Harris works in communications, he's fun. Their dating. Mateo's a flirt but he doesn't mean anything by it." Dima rattled off names like a roster, and Nikolai tried to keep track but they all blurred together into a mass of people and noise and too much.

Then Dima said, "Luca will probably be there."

Something in his tone made Nikolai look up. "Who's Luca?"

"Rookie. Twenty years old, plays right wing, Swiss-German, does an art degree online or something." Mityusha's mouth twitched into a smile. "Nice kid. Bit puppy."

"Puppy?"

"You know. Excited. Friendly. Talks a lot." Dima pulled into a residential neighborhood, houses with neat lawns and basketball hoops in driveways. "He's good, though. Really good. Gonna be a star if he doesn't overthink himself out of it."

Nikolai filed that away: Luca. Puppy. Talks a lot. He already knew he'd probably avoid him.

"Here we are," Dima said, pulling up to a house at the end of a cul-de-sac.

Nikolai's stomach dropped.

They pulled up to a house that was already vibrating with noise. Music poured from the backyard, something upbeat and summery. Nikolai could hear children shrieking, adults laughing, the sizzle of a grill.

His chest tightened.

"We do not have to stay long," Dimochka said quietly, reading him like he always could. "One hour. We eat, we say hello, we leave."

Nikolai nodded. He could do one hour.

He checked his phone: 2:14 PM. Close enough.

One hour, he told himself. You can survive one hour.

"How many people are here?" Nikolai asked.

"I don't know. Twenty? Thirty?"

"Thirty people."

"It's a team thing. Families come."

"Thirty people," Nikolai repeated.

Bear whined from the backseat. He could feel it too,the shift in Nikolai's body, the tension creeping into his shoulders.

Dima turned off the engine, twisted in his seat to face him. "Hey, Nikusha. Look at me."

Nikolai looked.

"You're okay," Mityusha said. "I'm not leaving you alone. If it's too much, we leave. No one's going to be weird if we leave."

"Everyone will notice."

"So? Let them notice." Dimochka's expression was firm, protective in the way that made Nikolai feel like he was still eighteen and barely holding together. "You're more important than hockey people's feelings."

Nikolai took a breath. Then another. His hands were shaking slightly, so he tucked them under his thighs.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Mityusha grinned. "That's my brother. Come on. Zane's probably already drunk."

Bear barked once, tail thumping against the seat. Let's go.

The backyard was chaos.

Nikolai stood just inside the gate, trying to process the sheer amount of everything. There were at least thirty people crammed into a space that felt too small, too loud, too bright. Kids were running in circles, shrieking with the kind of joy that made Nikolai's ears ring. A massive grill dominated one corner, smoke billowing up into the cloudless sky. Music blasted from a speaker somewhere, competing with a dozen overlapping conversations.

Someone had strung up lights even though it was the middle of the afternoon. There were coolers everywhere, lawn chairs scattered in clusters, an inflatable pool that three small children were using as a wrestling ring.

Bear pressed against his leg, ears flat, tail low. The dog didn't like crowds either. But he stayed. He always stayed.

Nikolai wanted to leave immediately.

"DMITRI!"

A man the size of a small building was barreling toward them, arms spread wide, grin threatening to split his face in half. This had to be Zane.

Dima barely had time to set down the beer before he was engulfed in a hug that looked like it could crack ribs. Zane was talking a mile a minute, something about the playoffs and training camp and "you brought the good stuff, eh?"

Then Zane's eyes landed on Nikolai. And Bear.

"And you must be the brother!" Zane released Dima and moved toward Nikolai with the same terrifying enthusiasm.

Nikolai took an involuntary step back. Bear's hackles rose slightly,not aggressive, just alert.

Mityusha's hand shot out, catching Zane's shoulder. "Nikusha does not like hugs. And the dog does not like strangers."

Zane stopped immediately, smile not dimming even a fraction. "No hugs, got it. Handshake for you." He looked down at Bear. "And what about you, little man? Fist bump?"

Bear stared at him.

"Okay, no fist bump. Respect." Zane straightened, still grinning. "Good to finally meet you, man! Dmitri talks about you all the time. I'm Zane, this is my circus." He gestured broadly at the chaos. "Make yourself at home. Food's on the grill, drinks in the coolers, and if anyone gives you trouble, you let me know and I'll fight them."

"He is joking," Dmitri said.

"I'm not joking. Anyway, Cassie's inside if you want something non-alcoholic-" Zane was already talking to someone else, his attention scattering like light through a prism.

Dima touched Nikolai's elbow lightly. "You good?"

Nikolai nodded. He wasn't good. But he was here, which was something. Bear sat on his foot, a warm, grounding weight.

"Come on," Dimochka said. "I'll introduce you to people."

The next twenty minutes were a blur of names and faces.

"This is Connor,we call him Boyle,and his boyfriend Nick."

Boyle was stocky and freckled with an Irish accent and the kind of face that looked like it smiled a lot. Nick was taller, French-Canadian, with dark hair and the calm demeanor of someone who'd seen everything and was unimpressed by most of it.

"Nice to meet you," Boyle said, shaking his hand. Then he looked down at Bear. "And who's this?"

"Bear," Nikolai said. "He's mine."

"German Shepherd?"

"A mini one, but yes."

"Handsome lad." Boyle crouched down slowly, letting Bear sniff his hand before attempting any contact. Bear gave him a thorough inspection, then allowed a single pat before retreating to Nikolai's side.

"This is Shane," Dima continued, gesturing to a man who was standing slightly apart from the group, holding a plate of vegetables like they were a shield.

Shane Hollander-Rozanov was exactly as Mityusha described: quiet, impeccably dressed in a way that made Nikolai's t-shirt feel inadequate, and watching everything with the sharp attention of someone who missed nothing.

"Hi," Shane said. His voice was soft, almost hesitant. "You're Dmitri's brother."

"Yes."

"Ilya's been asking about you."

Ilya,who appeared out of nowhere, looked at Nikolai like he was a puzzle to solve, and said in Russian, "You came. Good. Dmitri's been worried about you."

"Ilya," Dima said warningly.

"What? It's true." Ilya switched to English, grinned at Nikolai. "You look terrified. Don't be terrified. We're nice."

"You're not nice," someone said. "You're loud."

"Loud can be nice."

"Don't mind him," Boyle said cheerfully. "He adopts people. It's a whole thing."

"I do not adopt-"

"You absolutely do."

A small child came barreling past, chased by two other kids, all of them screaming with laughter. One of them crashed into Nikolai's legs, bounced off, and kept running without missing a beat. Bear startled, pressing harder against Nikolai's ankle.

Nikolai stood very still, trying not to have a panic attack.

"You good?" Nick asked quietly.

"Yes. Just... loud."

"Yeah. It's a lot." Nick's voice was steady, grounding. "There's a quieter spot by the side of the house if you need a break. No one will judge."

Nikolai nodded, filing that information away like a lifeline. He tried to track the conversation, but there were too many people, too many voices. Someone's kid ran past screaming. The dog,someone else's dog, a golden retriever,barked at Bear. Bear growled softly. The music changed to something with more guitar.

He needed to leave. He needed to get out of here, needed air, needed-

"Hey."

Nikolai turned.

A woman stood beside him, holding a toddler on her hip. She had soft pale skin, dark curly hair pulled into a bun, and the kind of smile that felt like an invitation rather than a demand.

"You're Dmitri's brother," she said. "I'm Cassie. This is Milo."

The toddler,Milo,stared at Nikolai with huge brown eyes, then buried his face in his mother's shoulder.

"He's shy at first," Cassie said. "Give him ten minutes and he'll be asking you to play trucks."

"I do not know how to play trucks," Nikolai said, and immediately regretted it. That wasn't a normal thing to say.

But Cassie just laughed. "Neither does Zane, but Milo doesn't seem to care. You want something to drink? We've got everything,beer, soda, juice boxes if you're feeling nostalgic."

"Water's fine."

"I'll grab you one. Stay here, I'll be right back."

She disappeared into the house, and Nikolai was alone again. Well,not alone. Surrounded by people, which was somehow worse than being alone. Bear pressed against his leg, a small anchor.

He scanned the yard, looking for Mityusha. Found him near the grill, talking to Zane and another guy Nikolai didn't recognize. Dimochka caught his eye, raised his eyebrows in a silent you okay? Nikolai nodded, even though he wasn't sure.

And then-

Movement at the gate. Someone arriving late, arms loaded with what looked like three different dishes, clearly struggling. A guy, maybe early twenties, with the kind of face that looked like it smiled easily. He was laughing at himself, already apologizing to no one in particular.

"Sorry, sorry, I know I'm late, I couldn't decide what to bring so I brought everything-"

He was loud. Not aggressively,just present. The kind of loud that filled a room without demanding attention. His hair was a mess, pushed back from his forehead, and he was wearing a faded white shirt that said 'Hollywood', dark green baggy jeans with paint stains on the knees and black Timberland boots.

Nikolai's chest did something strange.

Not attraction. Not yet. Just... warmth. Like seeing sunlight after being in a dark room too long.

The guy was still talking, juggling dishes, nearly dropping a container of what looked like brownies. Someone,Boyle, maybe,came to help him, and he grinned in relief, thanking them loudly enough that half the yard probably heard.

Then his eyes scanned the crowd.

And landed on Dima.

"Oh! Dmitri! Hey!" He was already moving, dishes somehow still balanced, weaving through people with the kind of chaotic grace that suggested he did this often. "I brought pierogies. Well, I tried to make pierogies. My grandmother's recipe,Mamie, she's Swiss, but she learned from a Polish neighbor, so they're not authentic authentic but they're good, I promise, I tested them-"

Mityusha was smiling. Actually smiling, in that soft way he only did with people he genuinely liked.

"Nikusha," Dima called, waving him over. "Come. You need to meet someone."

Nikolai's feet didn't want to move. Bear looked up at him, ears cocked.

But Dimochka was waiting. And the guy,Luca, this had to be Luca, the puppy,was already looking in his direction, curiosity bright in his eyes.

Nikolai walked over. Bear stayed close.

"Luca, this is my brother, Nikolai," Dmitri said. "Kolya, Luca."

Luca's face did something extraordinary. It lit up. Like Nikolai's existence was genuinely good news.

"You're Dmitri's brother!" Luca shifted his dishes to one arm,precariously,and stuck out his free hand. "He talks about you all the time. All the time. I feel like I already know you. Is that weird to say? That's probably weird to say. I'm going to stop talking now."

He didn't stop talking. But somehow, Nikolai didn't mind.

"Nikolai," he said, taking Luca's hand. His grip was warm, firm without being aggressive. "Niko is fine."

"Niko." Luca tested it, like he was tasting the word. "Niko. I like that. Short and sweet. I'm Luca, but you probably already knew that because Dmitri just said it, and I'm repeating myself, wow, okay, I'm going to-" He gestured vaguely with the armful of dishes. "I'm going to put these down before I drop them on your feet."

He disappeared toward the food table, still talking to himself, and Nikolai found himself watching him go.

Mityusha leaned in, voice low. "Told you. Puppy."

Nikolai didn't answer.

Luca came back.

Of course he came back. He'd spotted the dog.

"Oh my God, is that yours?" He was already crouching down, hands visible, letting Bear sniff him with the kind of instinctive understanding of animal boundaries that Nikolai had learned to appreciate. "Hi, hi, hello, you're so small, you're so-is he a mini German Shepherd? I've never seen one in person. What's his name? Can I pet him? I'll wait if he says no."

"He says yes," Nikolai said. Bear's tail was wagging. Traitor.

Luca's hands were gentle. He scratched behind Bear's ears with the kind of focused attention that suggested he genuinely cared about whether the dog liked it. Bear leaned into the touch, eyes half-closing, and Luca made a soft, pleased sound.

"He's perfect," Luca said, looking up at Nikolai. "What's his name?"

"Bear."

"Bear." Luca grinned. "That's such a good name. He looks like a Bear. A tiny, fluffy, murderous-looking Bear."

"He's not murderous."

"He looks like he could be. In a cute way." Luca stood, brushing off his jeans. "I'm Luca, by the way. I already said that. I'm saying it again. Hi."

"We met."

"We did. I'm making sure you remember. I'm very forgettable."

Nikolai blinked. "You're not."

The words came out before he could stop them. Luca's eyebrows went up, something flickering across his face,surprise, maybe, or pleasure. Then he grinned again, wider this time.

"Wow. Okay. Dmitri said you were quiet. He did not say you were smooth."

"I'm not-" Nikolai started, then stopped. His face felt warm. "I'm not smooth."

"Sure you're not." Luca was laughing at him, but it wasn't mean. It was warm. Like being laughed with rather than at. "Come on, let's get you a drink. You look like you need one. And by drink I mean water, because you also look like you don't drink, and that's fine, I don't really either, not anymore-well, not never, just not often-"

He was still talking as he steered Nikolai toward the drink table, and somehow,somehow,Nikolai let him.

Bear trotted along beside them, tail wagging.

They ended up in a corner of the yard, half-hidden by a large bush and a cooler that someone had abandoned. Not hiding, exactly. Just... occupying the same space.

Luca had talked for ten minutes straight. Nikolai had said approximately four words. And yet, Luca didn't seem to mind.

"So then I told the professor-" Luca was saying, gesturing with a paper plate that no longer contained any food, "-I said, 'With respect, this assignment is impossible,' and he said, 'Art is supposed to be impossible,' and I said, 'That's pretentious and you know it,' and he-" Luca stopped mid-sentence, squinting at Nikolai. "You're not listening."

"I'm listening."

"You're staring at me like I'm a science experiment."

Nikolai looked away. "You talk a lot."

"I know." Luca said it like it wasn't an insult. Like it was just a fact. "My mom-well, my Mamie-she used to say I was born talking. I think I'm just afraid of silence. Silence feels... heavy, you know?"

Nikolai knew. He knew better than Luca could possibly understand.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

Luca looked at him for a long moment. Not staring. Just... looking. Like he was trying to read something written in a language he didn't quite speak.

"What do you do?" Luca asked. "Dmitri said you're a photographer?"

"Yes."

"What do you shoot?"

"Anything." Nikolai hesitated. "People, sometimes. But mostly... spaces. Things that don't talk back."

Luca laughed. Not politely-genuinely. "That's the most photographer answer I've ever heard. Can I see?"

"See what?"

"Your work. Do you have photos on your phone?"

Nikolai hesitated. Showing people his work felt like showing them a piece of his rib cage. But Luca was looking at him with that open, curious expression, and somehow-

"Fine," Nikolai said, pulling out his phone.

He scrolled to his portfolio folder, handed it over. Luca took it carefully, like it was something precious, and started swiping.

And went quiet.

That was the thing. Luca went quiet. The talking stopped. His expression shifted, focus sharpening, and he looked at each photo like he was trying to step inside it.

"These are..." Luca started, then stopped. Swiped again. "Niko."

"What?"

"These are really good."

Nikolai's chest tightened. "They're fine."

"No, I mean-" Luca looked up, and his eyes were serious now, all traces of puppy energy gone. "I'm doing an art degree. I've looked at a lot of photos. These are really good. The way you use light,and the composition on this one," He pointed to a shot of the Rideau Canal at dusk, the water reflecting streetlights like scattered gold. "This should be in a gallery."

"It's just a hobby."

"It's not." Luca said it firmly, like he was stating a fact. "You're an artist, Niko. You should probably accept that."

Nikolai didn't know what to say to that. No one had ever said that to him before. Mityusha said his work was good, but Dima was his brother. He had to say that.

Luca didn't have to say anything.

"You speak Spanish?" Luca asked suddenly, switching languages. "Dmitri said you grew up speaking it."

"Some."

"¿Prefieres el español?" (Do you prefer Spanish?)

"No. El inglés es más fácil." (No. English is easier.)

"Está bien. Pero, ¿puedes corregirme si cometo errores?" (Okay. But you can correct me if I make mistakes?)

Nikolai stared at him. "Why would I correct you?"

"Because I'm learning, and I'm bad at it, and everyone's too nice to tell me." Luca grinned. "Tengo un acento terrible, ¿no?" (I have a terrible accent, right?)

Nikolai's mouth twitched. "Sí."

"Gracias por la honestidad." (Thanks for the honesty.)

They sat in silence for a moment. Not heavy silence. Easy silence. Bear had curled up at Nikolai's feet, snoring softly.

"Dmitri said you're doing an art degree," Nikolai said. "Online."

"Yeah. Contemporary art. It's mostly theory, which is annoying because I just want to make things, but I guess understanding why art matters is important too." Luca shrugged. "I'm thinking about switching to something more hands-on. Maybe mixed media. I like texture."

"What do you make?"

"Everything. Paintings, sculptures, weird installations that confuse my professors." Luca pulled out his own phone, scrolled for a moment, and handed it over. "Here. This is my favorite thing I've done recently."

The photo showed a sculpture,a birdcage, empty, with small paper birds flying out of the open door. They were made of sheet music, the pages yellowed, and the whole thing was suspended against a wall painted deep blue.

"It's about my Mamie," Luca said quietly. "She died two years ago. She loved birds. And music. And freedom, I think. She didn't have a lot of it when she was young."

Nikolai looked at the sculpture. Then at Luca.

"It's beautiful," he said. And meant it.

Luca's smile was soft, almost shy. "Thanks."

Someone called Luca's name from across the yard,Holmberg, a kid who looked barely old enough to drive, let alone play professional hockey. Luca waved, then turned back to Nikolai.

"I should probably go check on him. He gets anxious in crowds. Do you want to come?"

Nikolai shook his head. "I'm okay here."

Luca hesitated, like he wanted to say something else. Then he nodded. "Okay. But I'll find you later, yeah? Don't disappear."

He was gone before Nikolai could answer, weaving through the crowd with that same chaotic grace, already talking to Holmberg in a low, soothing voice.

Nikolai watched him go.

Bear lifted his head, looked at Nikolai, then at Luca's retreating back.

Yeah, Bear's expression seemed to say. I see it too.

The party went on around him. Nikolai stayed in his corner, half-hidden, petting Bear's ears and trying to breathe.

He should leave. He'd been here almost an hour. Mityusha would understand.

But every time he thought about getting up, his feet didn't move.

Because Luca might come back.

And that thought was dangerous.

An hour later,maybe two, Nikolai had stopped counting,the party was winding down. Families with young kids had started leaving. The music was quieter. The grill had cooled.

Luca had found him again. Twice. The first time, he'd brought brownies ("I made them myself, they're not burnt, that's caramelization"). The second time, he'd sat on the ground next to Bear and shown Nikolai more of his art, talking softly about color theory and texture and the way light changed depending on the time of day.

Nikolai had talked more than he meant to. About photography. About why he preferred black and white ("color is too much information"). About the way he liked to shoot from unusual angles, to make familiar things look strange.

Luca had listened. Actually listened. Not just waited for his turn to talk.

Now the sun was lower, casting long shadows across the grass. Dimochka was making his way over, car keys in hand.

"Time to go?" Nikolai asked.

"If you're ready."

Nikolai looked down at Luca, who was still sitting on the grass, back against the fence, Bear sprawled across his lap like they'd been friends for years.

"I should-" Nikolai started.

"Yeah, of course." Luca stood, carefully transferring Bear to the ground. The dog huffed in protest. "It was really nice to meet you, Niko. I mean it."

"You too."

Luca hesitated. Then he pulled out his phone. "Can I-I mean, would you want to-" He stopped, took a breath. "Can I give you my number? So we can talk about art. Or whatever. Only if you want."

Nikolai should say no. He should say I don't give my number to strangers or I'm not looking for friends or this is a bad idea.

But Luca was looking at him with that open, hopeful expression, and Bear was wagging his tail, and-

"Yeah," Nikolai said. "Okay."

They exchanged numbers. Luca's grin could have powered the sun.

"Text me," Luca said. "Whenever. Even if it's just a photo of Bear. I love Bear. Bear is my favorite."

"You met him two hours ago."

"And he's already my favorite. That's how good he is."

Dima grinned at him from behind Luca's shoulder."Ready, Nikusha?"