Chapter 33 #3
“I have,” Maksim says, stepping forward, arms crossed, jaw tight. “But you haven’t been here for years.”
Victor leans back against the metal lockers, arms folded, jaw tight. “It’s been years since you lost it like that.”
I grind my teeth in silence, but don’t say anything.
“What the fuck happened with you today?” Viktor demands, staring into my eyes like he’s digging for something buried. “Talk to me.”
“None of your fucking business,” I mutter, flat as stone.
I shove past him, the metal door only a few steps away. I need air—space—anything. But he moves faster, slamming me into the lockers so hard the sound cracks through the room like a gunshot. The steel rattles, my ribs seize, and the breath tears right out of me.
Rage blooms instantly. Sharp, vicious, and alive.
“Get the fuck off me,” I growl, voice low and lethal. I can barely stay upright, exhaustion gnaws at my muscles, but I swear I’ll crush his skull into the wall if he doesn’t move. “I swear to God, Viktor—”
“You gonna try to smash my head in now?” he snaps back, face just inches from mine, breath hot with fury. “You think you can win this time, Sasha?”
My fists tighten.
We both know I can’t.
But neither can he.
Because the truth is, we’ve never beaten each other.
Not once. No matter how many times they threw us into a ring like dogs when we were younger, how many times they shouted at us to fight harder, bleed more.
We always ended the same way: bruised, gasping, on the ground together.
No victor. No surrender. Just two boys who were never allowed to stop.
It’s like we were made with the same fire, same strength. Same curse.
A war older than both of us simmers in the silence. Viktor’s grip doesn’t ease.
“You almost ripped that guy’s head off,” he barks. “That wasn’t a fight. That was a fucking blackout. I’ve seen you being violent. I’ve seen you angry. But that? That was something else.”
I don’t answer. My jaw pulses with restraint.
“This isn’t just about hunger for violence,” he presses, quieter now. “This is about him, isn’t it?”
Maksim’s still against the wall, not a word from him. Just watching. Observing. Like he knows this is sacred ground between Viktor and me, a history written in bruises and blood.
Viktor lowers his voice.
“Please, talk to me, Sasha.”
That voice.
That damn voice.
It always cuts straight through me. It’s soft, deep, steady. The one thing that makes me lower my guard, even when every part of me is ready to explode. He used it back then, too, when we were twelve. When I still hated him.
We both did — hated each other.
Because our fathers made us fight. Over and over. Pitting us like dogs in some twisted show of strength and legacy. And since neither of us ever surrendered, since we both refused to fall, we got punished for being “weak.” Beaten down for not being better than the other.
So one day, Viktor threw the fight and let me win.
And he’d looked at me, bruised and bloody, and said in that same low, soft voice, “Please… let’s be best friends, I’m so tired of hating you.”
Since then, he’s been the only one I’ve ever let close. The only one who knows me as much as I know myself.
I exhale slowly, the sound ragged and raw. My voice comes out low, gravel-thick. I don’t look at him when I say it. I can’t.
“He flinched.”
Viktor’s brows crease. “What?”
“When I touched him… he flinched. Like I was the fucking thing he was running from.”
The air in the room stills. His grip loosens, not all the way, just enough to let me breathe, but not enough to let me run. Like he knows I’m still one wrong word from tearing myself apart.
“I don’t know if I’m overreacting,” I grit out, jaw locked, looking dead in his eyes now, “But the way he looked at me today — terrified, shaking, like I was the one who’d hurt him. It… It fucking killed me. I know it was because of the nightmare he had, but still…”
Viktor doesn’t say anything. His eyes stay on me, unwavering. But I feel it, the weight of it all pressing between us—the quiet understanding.
Then Maksim, still leaning against the wall like he’s watching a particularly tragic indie movie, mutters dryly under his breath,
“I mean… it was a nightmare. Who wouldn’t flinch waking up to your hideous face looming over them?”
Viktor and I both turn to glare at him in unison.
He raises his hands, mock-innocent.
“What? I’m just saying. Could’ve been worse.”
Viktor shakes his head and turns back to me, his voice still laced with that softness, more careful.
“Has he ever acted like that with you before?”
I grind my teeth. “No. Never.”
The weight of it settles on my shoulders like a lead coat.
“Even after the alley…” I mutter. “He saw me that night. Beating that bastard bloody. He was scared, sure, anyone would be, but he wasn’t scared of me. He didn’t look at me like I was the monster.”
A pause.
“Until today.”
Maksim whistles low, dragging it out. “So the almighty Alexander is going through his first heartbreak. Look at that. We should be talking about this over ice cream, ughh.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, venom in my voice.
But I don’t move. I don’t even have the energy to waste my strength on Maksim.
“I don’t know what the hell it is,” I say, voice rough. “I see him and everything else in me just—” I run a hand through my hair. “Turns off. The noise, the anger, the darkness. He looks at me and makes the demons in my head quiet.”
Neither of them says anything.
I meet Viktor’s gaze again, and this time, my voice is quieter.
“But when he flinched… when he couldn’t look at me… that noise came back. Much louder. It sounded like every goddamn thing I’ve tried to bury since I was a kid.”
Then Viktor says it. Calm. Certain.
“You love him.”
My eyes shoot up to meet his. I wasn’t ready for that. The words hit harder than a punch. I blink. Then Scoff.
A short, bitter sound.
“I don’t even know what love is.”
It comes out like it tastes wrong in my mouth, foreign and sharp, like glass on my tongue. I hate how empty it sounds. How true it feels.
Viktor doesn’t flinch. Don’t mock me for it. Instead, he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for years.
“Neither do I.” He says quietly.
His mouth twists into a sad, crooked smile.
“You think any of us were taught that shit? What it look or feel like? All we ever saw was control. Obsession. Survival.”
“Violence,” I mutter.
He nods once. “Violence.”
Maksim is quiet as he watches us, his expression unreadable.
“But I truly think what you feel for him is love,” Viktor says, voice steady and low. “A love so deep it claws at you every time he’s in pain. A love that’d make you bleed just to see him smile.”
The silence stretches, taut and heavy.
Then—
“Jesus Christ,” Maksim mutters, arms still folded where he leans against the wall, “Next thing you know, Viktor’s gonna start quoting Shakespeare.”
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to slit a throat. “Say one more fucking word, Maksim.”
He grins, completely unbothered. “I’m just saying. You nearly beat a man into a coma. Hell, he’s basically a vegetable, and now we’re having a romantic intervention?”
I step forward, fists clenching. My body’s still aching from the fight, but I swear, if he pushes one more button.
“I swear to God—”
“Alex,” Viktor cuts in, calm but firm, placing a hand flat against my chest. Not aggressive, just grounding. Like he’s holding me in place so I don’t fly off the edge. “Breathe.”
I don’t. Not at first.
Then I do.
But it’s not enough.
“Go home,” he says quietly. “Shower. Sleep. You’ll think clearly in the morning.”
I don’t move. My jaw locks tight, throat burning.
And then I say it.
“I don’t know how I’ll feel if he’s not there anymore.”
The words fall from my mouth like stones. It’s heavy, sharp, and dangerous.
The air goes still.
Maksim lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Don’t,” I snap, eyes flashing to him.
“I’m just saying,” he replies, an annoying tease to his voice. “You’re standing there, bruised, feelings like a fucking movie villain in his redemption arc. It’s giving a tragic, obsessive antihero.”
My hand twitches like it wants to break something—preferably his face.
“I’m trying to lighten the mood, man.” He grins, but it fades when he sees I’m serious. His voice shifts, quieting. “You think he’s gone?”
Viktor exhales and gives me a grounding look.
Because he knows how serious this is for me, if Lucas ever looked at me again like I was something he needed to run from—I don’t know what would be left of me after that.