A Christmas Eve with Fyodor

The table is crowded with bowls of steaming food, the chatter of your family blending with the clinking of plates. You sit next to Fyodor, your cousin, who’s unusually quiet, his dark eyes fixed on his plate.

Then, without warning, you feel a sharp nudge against your shin. You jerk slightly and glance at him. He’s pretending to be innocent, fork in hand, but there’s a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, leaning closer.

“Bored,” he mutters, kicking your leg again under the table.

You suppress a laugh, trying to look serious as your grandmother glances over at the two of you. Fyodor raises an eyebrow, daring you to retaliate, and you nudge him back with your foot.