5. Mikhail
Mikhail
Ithink I fucked up somehow and hurt Daniil, but I have no idea what I did. The way he asked if I hooked up with someone keeps running through my head on repeat, those sad eyes staring at me like I’d crushed him. He looked like he was about to cry, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
I don’t get why it matters so much to him. I didn’t hook up with anyone. Some girl tried getting me to leave with her, but I turned her down because I had zero interest and just wanted to go home to him. I wasn’t even tempted.
But he’s been off since that night. He won’t hang around me, and now he’s locking his door so I can’t get into his room at night, which doesn’t make any sense because we’ve always slept better when we’re together. He knows that as well as I do.
It’s been three fucking days of him dodging me, barely making eye contact, only speaking in single words when I manage to corner him somewhere. It’s driving me insane.
We do everything together. It’s always been that way.
Work side by side, eat meals together, exist in the same spaces without needing to fill the silence.
That’s our normal. And now he’s acting like being near me causes him physical pain or something, and I can’t figure out what the hell I did wrong.
My brain keeps circling back to that night, trying to find the moment I fucked up, but I come up empty every time. I’ve asked him over and over what’s going on, and he keeps feeding me bullshit. Says he’s tired or needs space or comes up with some other weak excuse that doesn’t explain anything.
Space from what? From me? Why would he suddenly need distance from me when we’ve never needed it before? We’re Danya and Mik. We don’t do space.
It’s killing me, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Maybe he’s upset I went out without bringing him, but that theory falls apart because he despises parties and clubs. He’d pick staying home and working over going out every single time, so it’s not that.
Or maybe he’s angry I came home high, but I’ve done that plenty of times before, and he’s never reacted this way. He gets annoyed, tells me I’m an idiot, makes me shower and drink water, but he doesn’t freeze me out entirely like this.
Glancing across the club, I spot him in one of the corner booths, staring at spreadsheets on his laptop while working on something our father assigned to him.
He only came to Ozero today because he was forced to, which means he really is actively avoiding me and won’t even sit in the same area as me unless he has no other option.
That realization pisses me off more than it should, and I walk over, dropping into the booth and pulling him against my side before he can protest or slide away. He tenses immediately but doesn’t fight me, just shoots me this look with his cheeks going red as he tries focusing back on the screen.
Leaning down, I kiss the curve of his neck, my mouth open against his skin.
Then I kiss him there again and let my lips slide up the length of his neck.
He gasps, the sound strangled, and I pull back.
His whole body goes completely rigid, and his mouth falls open as he turns his head around to stare at me with wide hazel eyes full of shock.
I don’t know why I did that. Kissing your brother’s neck is weird as fuck, but three days of being ignored have me doing things I wouldn’t normally do just to get a reaction out of him. I need him to respond to me, anything that breaks through whatever barrier he’s built between us.
“I’m trying to work,” he says, barely getting the words out as he glances back at his laptop. The blush crawls up his neck, and he shifts restlessly, squirming in his seat.
Sighing, I poke his shoulder. “Want to smoke?”
“No.”
“Come on, Danya. Please.”
He doesn’t look at me, eyes fixed on the spreadsheet. “I said no.”
“Why not? You love smoking with me.”
“I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy lately.” I lean closer, trying to catch his eye. “Just take a break. Ten minutes.”
His jaw tightens. “I need to finish this.”
“Our father won’t care if it takes an extra hour. Come on, please. I haven’t hung out with you in three days.”
He finally glances at me, something flickering across his face before he looks away again.
“Stop avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You literally are. Right now. You won’t even look at me.” I poke him again. “Please just smoke with me. I miss you.”
His fingers pause on the keyboard, and the blush spreads higher up his neck and across his cheeks. “Fine. Ten minutes. That’s it.”
Relief floods through me because my next move was throwing him over my shoulder and kidnapping him to force him to hang out with me.
I pull out the box from my pocket where I keep the pre-rolled joints and light one up, then grab his chin and bring it to his mouth.
He inhales and exhales quickly before moving away from me.
I’ll take the push if it means I get the pull. I’ll take the fights if it means he comes back. I’ll take the crumbs because crumbs from him are more than a feast from anyone else. It’s been this way since we were teenagers, this endless cycle of him running and me waiting.
We’re fucked up. I know we are. Even other people look at us like something’s wrong, like they can see how twisted up we are in each other.
We’re opening soon, and the crowd will be pouring in any minute. I want time with him before I have to deal with everyone else. I nudge him, and he looks at me with his cheeks still flushed. “Want to get a shot at the bar?”
“Sure, but I have to get back to work soon.”
Okay, then maybe I can get him drunk enough that he forgets about leaving.
We walk toward the bar, and I snag a bottle of tequila, pouring us two shots before sliding one over to him.
He takes it down quickly and reaches for another, so I pour him a second and knock mine back while he downs his.
The silver hoop in his nose glints in the light and my gaze drops to it.
He used to have a stud when he first got it but switched to the hoop and never changed it back. It fits him perfectly.
The doors open and people stream in. I sit next to him, and the DJ starts playing “Dirty Little Secret” by Artemas, and I’m about to say something when a girl comes up to me. Black hair, purple dress. I glance at her, but it feels wrong because that’s his color, not hers.
“Hey,” she says, leaning close to whisper in my ear.
Daniil frowns and rubs his temples, biting the inside of his cheek. He tries to hop off the chair, but I grab his purple hoodie to stop him.
“We’re kind of busy,” I say.
“I heard you had an accent, but damn, it’s even sexier up close.” She gestures toward her friends across the club. “They told me you own this place too. That true?”
“Da.”
“You guys should come sit with us.”
“Nyet, we’re not in the mood.” I tug on Daniil’s hoodie, trying to move us away, but she reaches out to block us.
“Come on, just one drink. My friend over there thinks your friend is cute.”
Some guy from her group walks up, clearly already drunk, swaying on his feet. He looks at Daniil and grins. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
Daniil looks away and bites his lip.
The guy frowns and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hello? What’s his problem? Why can’t he talk? Is he fucking stup—”
I’m off the chair before he finishes the sentence, my fist connecting with his face so hard I feel something crack under my knuckles. He goes down and blood pours from his nose, thick and fast. His friends start screaming, and I haul him back up by his collar, slamming my fist into his face again.
Blood sprays across the bar and across his friends, and they scatter like someone yelled fire, running straight into my security team who don’t move an inch.
Grabbing him by his shirt, I drag him across the club floor while he tries to fight me, but he’s weak and pathetic.
Daniil follows behind me as I haul the guy down the hall toward the security office and throw him inside.
He hits the floor hard, and Daniil closes the door behind us, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed.
The guy scrambles backward with one hand clutching his bleeding face and the other flying up in some useless attempt to shield himself. I throw another punch and then kick him across the face. His head snaps to the side, and he crumples.
“Help—” he chokes out.
“Not so funny now, is it?” I shout.
He’s sobbing and trying to curl into himself while blood pours down his chin and soaks into his shirt. My gaze lands on one of the knives sitting on the desk, and I pick it up, the weight solid in my hand. Dropping down, I drive the blade straight into his chest.
He gasps with his eyes going wide, and his hands fly up to clutch at the handle, but it’s already done. Blood pools dark and fast beneath him, spreading across the floor in a thick puddle. His body jerks once and then goes still.
I stand and wipe my hands on my black jeans.
When I glance over at Daniil, he’s biting his lip with his cheek flushed pink and his eyes locked on me.
Not on the body. On me. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that I can’t quite place, something hungry and tense that makes my pulse kick harder for a completely different reason.
“You alright?” I ask, breathless.
He nods slowly, pushing off the wall. “I think I’m going to go home.”
“Ignore what he said. He was just some drunk asshole, okay? Doesn’t mean anything.”
He shakes his head and won’t look at me. I know how bad he feels about not being able to talk, how much it eats at him. He’s funny and smart, and I love being around him, but no one else gets to see those parts of him. Only me.
I pull him into me, wrapping my arms around him tightly. He goes still for a second with his arms hanging at his sides before he finally wraps them around me too. He sighs against me, and I feel him breathing me in.
He mumbles something under his breath about a failed operation and being back at zero, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.