4. Daniil #2
So, I might have been slightly overdramatic and took it out on Mikhail when he came home, even though he didn’t technically do anything wrong. But I couldn’t help it. It just hurts too much to keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.
The thing is, my brilliant master plan to find someone else and get it over with has a fatal flaw. I can’t do it without connection. I’ve tried convincing myself I could and spent the entire morning running through scenarios in my head, but the truth is I’m not wired that way.
I jerk off, obviously. I’m twenty-three with a working dick. But it takes everything in me not to think of Mikhail while I do it, and even then, I fail most of the time.
This is exactly why I’ve come up with an actual plan. A real one this time, not the half-formed idea I had last night about hooking up with strangers. I’m a planner anyway. This is what I do.
Step one: avoid Mikhail. Hence why I’m sitting in Yulian’s office right now instead of at home where we usually work side by side.
Mikhail’s sulking anyway, hasn’t left his room since he stumbled in yesterday morning.
Probably nursing the worst hangover of his life and confused about why I was being weird.
Step two: sign up to a dating app. Try to find someone else to focus on. Build an actual connection with them, take my time, maybe eventually want them enough to sleep with them. It’s a long shot considering I’ve been in love with Mikhail since I was fifteen, but I have to try something.
Step three: throw myself into finding my biological family. The DNA test should come back soon, and when it does, I can obsess over that instead of obsessing over him.
It’s a solid plan. Completely achievable if I actually stick to it this time instead of caving the second Mikhail looks at me with those blue eyes and asks me to stay.
I just have to commit.
My phone buzzes on the desk, and I glance at the screen.
Mik:
where are you
My stomach twists. Silencing the notification, I turn back to my laptop, forcing myself to focus on the encryption protocol I’m supposed to be debugging. The code still looks like gibberish, but I stare at it anyway, willing it to make sense.
Another buzz.
Mik:
I’m sorry for whatever I did
I grit my teeth. This is part of the plan. Distance. Space. Not answering every time he reaches out because he’s bored or lonely or wants me to come sit with him while he recovers from partying.
I swipe out of his message and open the app store, scanning for dating apps. The first one that pops up gets the download, and two minutes later I’m staring at a profile setup screen asking for a picture.
Lifting the phone, I take a quick selfie. The overhead light catches my hazel eyes and makes them look darker, almost brown. Decent enough. I upload it and keep going.
Then the questions start.
Interests? I type “programming” and move on.
Favorite food? I put “pelmeni.”
Relationship goals? How am I supposed to answer that?
Then it asks what sex positions I prefer, and I stare at the screen. What the fuck kind of question is that for a dating app? How am I supposed to know? I’ve never had sex. I click “skip” and keep scrolling.
Do you top or bottom? I blink at my phone. Is this normal? Are all dating apps like this? Another skip.
What’s your favorite kink? Oh my god. I’m deleting this.
But I don’t delete it. I just keep filling in whatever generic answers come to mind, half annoyed and half confused about why they need to know this much information.
Finally I save the profile and toss my phone aside.
Done. It’s not like I’m going to use this thing seriously anyway. This was a terrible idea.
“You look miserable.”
My head snaps up. Yulian stands in front of me, and I pull out my AirPods.
I study him for a second. His dark brown hair curls over his forehead instead of being slicked back the way he normally styles it, shaved short on the sides.
Tattoos crawl up his neck and cover his hands, almost as many as Alexei has.
The family motto is tattooed across the back of his left hand just above his knuckles.
He’s dressed in a navy suit with a dark tie, and the family ring sits on his right index finger.
“Surprised to see you here. You normally don’t show up unless you have to.” He drops into the chair next to me.
Shrugging, I keep working on my laptop. The less I engage, the faster he’ll leave.
He reaches over and tries to ruffle my hair, but I smack his hand away. His phone pings with messages. He glances at it, then sets it face down on his thigh. The phone starts ringing, and he declines the call without looking.
“Girlfriend,” he says flatly.
I tilt my head at him. He hooks up with plenty of people but never commits to anyone, and I’ve never heard of him having an actual girlfriend. Plus, that’s not his regular phone. The one he keeps in his jacket pocket is sleeker, newer. This one looks older, like a burner.
Interesting. What are you hiding, Yulian?
I turn to face him fully, eyebrows pulling together. Playing curious gets people talking.
His hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s alright. You don’t need to say anything. She’s just been bothering me. Can’t stand needy people.”
Liar. Something’s off, but I can’t place what it is. He’s being vague, deflecting in ways he usually doesn’t with me. I keep my expression neutral and go back to my laptop while he sits there shuffling through papers, his jaw tight.
“So, I know Mikhail stole that document back,” he says suddenly.
I raise my brow at him.
“I needed that for something. He ruined it now.” He rubs his temple and glares out the window. “Took me hours to get everything lined up and now I have to start over.”
What the fuck did he need it for anyway?
The event prep was Mikhail’s responsibility, not his.
And why does he care so much about one document?
He looks tired, exhausted in a way that doesn’t fit.
Yulian is never tired. He’s the wildest, most unpredictable out of all of us, makes Mikhail look slow by comparison with how hyperactive he is.
He still gets into trouble nonstop and runs his mouth constantly, trying to get under everyone’s skin just because he can. Our mother is always mad at him because he can never behave himself, even though he’s the second oldest and should definitely have learned how to act by now.
They used to have full crisis meetings when we were kids, trying to figure out what to do with him. It didn’t work; he’s still annoying in the funniest, most infuriating way possible. Whoever ends up with him has my sympathy. They’re going to have their hands full and then some.
He narrows his eyes. “Who else was in on it? There’s no way he pulled that off alone. It would’ve taken hours to figure out where I stashed it. Alexei, right? That psycho would be all over breaking into my place. You didn’t help him, did you?”
I stay silent and watch him carefully because he’s fishing, trying to figure out who helped.
He leans back in his chair and sighs. “And now I have to fly to Vegas tomorrow, then Los Angeles right after. I’ve got three days to handle everything and get back before Father loses his mind. Three days. Do you know how much work I have to do in three days?”
LA. That’s unusual. What’s he doing out there? He’s not looking at me anymore, just staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t even have time to deal with Mikhail’s bullshit right now, but here we are.” He waves a hand vaguely at the papers in front of him. “Can’t catch a break.”
He opens his mouth to continue his rant, but someone knocks on the door. He stands immediately, smoothing down his suit and cracking his neck before crossing the room. When he pulls the door open, one of his employees says something too low for me to hear.
Yulian listens, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, then shoots me one last look over his shoulder before walking out into the hallway. The door swings shut, and I’m alone again.
My eyes drift back to the laptop screen in front of me. The code is still incomprehensible, just lines of text that might as well be in another language for all the sense they’re making right now.
Operation Avoid Mikhail is off to a decent start, I think.
Day one and I’ve already managed to ignore approximately fifteen texts from him and successfully hide out in Yulian’s office for the past two hours.
If I can keep this up for another week, maybe the urge to confess my twisted feelings will fade enough that I can function normally around him again. Probably not, but a guy can hope.