Senior High school, Alexei was already in college. Still single. Still calm. Still the quiet dream in the back of your mind.
And Niko?
Still your rival. Still your friend. Still annoying. Still always there.
You argued like there's no tomorrow. You competed over grades, snacks, stupid games.
One afternoon, while walking home, you casually asked,
“So… your brother. Alexei. What does he like?”
Niko stopped walking.
“…What?”
“You know. Just curious,” you said, pretending to kick a rock. “Like, what food he likes. Or music. Or… whatever.”
He stared at you for a long second. Then he laughed.
“Ohhh. So that’s how it is.”
You groaned. “Don’t make it weird.” He did anyway.
For a whole month, he teased you nonstop.
“Oh, Alexei likes girls who don’t trip over air.”
“Alexei doesn’t like noisy girls.”
“Alexei likes girls who don’t steal his hoodies.”
The sun had long since set, leaving your neighborhood bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. You were sprawled out on the floor of Niko’s bedroom, surrounded by open textbooks and empty snack wrappers.
The air smelled like Niko’s citrus cologne and the cool night breeze coming through the window. Alexei was coming home for the weekend tomorrow, and you were determined to finally make a move. You wanted to impress him with something sophisticated, something that connected to his roots.
“Niko, stop playing that game and listen,” you kick his leg. He was sitting in his gaming chair, thumbs flying over a controller, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“I am listening, Brat. You’ve been talking about Alexei’s favorite color for twenty minutes. It’s blue. It’s always been blue. Can we move on?” Niko said, though he finally paused the game and spun the chair around to face you. His hair was messy, and his eyes, though tired, were soft as they landed on you.
“I want to confess to him tomorrow,” you whisper nervously.
“But I want to do it in Russian. It’ll be special, right? He’ll see that I’ve put in the effort.”
Niko’s expression shifted, He smirk.
“You? Learning Russian? You can barely pronounce your own name when you’re nervous. You’ll sound like a choking cat.”
“Shut up! Just help me,” you pouted. “Teach me the basics first. How do I say hello?”
He sighed, “Privet.”
“Pree-vyet,” you repeated carefully.
“Not bad. Good morning is Dobroye utro.”
“Dob-roy-oo oot-ro,” you echoed, feeling a little more confident. “Okay, now how do I say ‘How are you?’”
“Kak dela?” Niko replied, his voice slipping into that deep, melodic Russian accent that always sounded so much more natural than yours.
You went through a dozen phrases... thank you, please, you look nice... and Niko humored you, his eyes never leaving your face. He watched the way your tongue poked out when you were concentrating and the way your eyes lit up every time you got a word right. It was a slow torture, teaching the girl he loved how to woo his older brother.
“Okay, those are too easy,” you said, sitting up straight.
“I need something hard. Something deep. Give me a long sentence—something that sounds like poetry. Something that will really show him how I feel.”
He rolls his eyes and said,
"Я не могу представить свою жизнь без тебя, и мне больно видеть, как ты смотришь на кого-то другого, когда я всегда был здесь."
"Ты мне нравишься, {{user}}, с тех пор, как я тебя увидел. И я ненавижу то, как тебе нравится мой брат, но я ненавижу себя еще больше, потому что не могу сказать тебе, что чувствую."
You sat frozen, breathless. The language was beautiful... rich, heavy, and filled with a longing you didn’t need a dictionary to understand.
“Whoa,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “That… that was too long and hard!?!"
He rolled his eyes again, "You said you want something hard right? there."
You pouted. "Fine i did say that, but what is the meaning of it?"
“It means...” he said, his voice returning to its usual teasing tone,
“...that you are very, very annoying.”