10. Daniil
Daniil
“We need to send him to rehab again,” Lev’s voice cuts through the room. Our father says something in response, but the words dissolve into white noise. My chair scrapes back, and I’m moving before I can think, stumbling into the hallway like someone pulled a string attached to my heart.
Did he remember? The kiss? That look of complete shock on his face—
Sounds echo from down the hall. Gasping, choking, like someone’s drowning.
The door’s half open to his office, and I break into a run with my sneakers sliding on the polished floor. The closer I get, the worse it sounds. Wet, desperate gasps for air that won’t come. I shove through the doorway, and my stomach drops.
Mikhail’s on the floor with his knees pulled up and his hands clawing at his throat like he can physically rip the panic out. His chest heaves in broken rhythm with his eyes squeezed shut and his face going red.
Slamming the door shut, I twist the lock and drop to my knees beside him. “Mikhail, hey, look at me.”
My arms wrap around his shoulders, and I pull his head into my lap, cradling him against my thighs. His eyes snap open, wild and unfocused, pupils blown so wide the blue’s almost gone.
“I’ve got you. It’s just a panic attack. You know what this is. Try to focus on something else.”
He nods once, jerky and frantic, then twists and buries his face into my lap.
His body curls tight on its side with his ribs expanding and collapsing too fast, breaths rattling in his throat.
Threading my fingers through the short buzz of his hair, I rub slow circles against his scalp the way I’ve done a thousand times before.
This is what works. This is what he needs.
We’ve had panic attacks since we were kids, the kind that make your lungs forget how to work and your heart try to beat its way out of your chest.
It’s been months since he got one this bad though. If this is about the kiss, if he remembered and now he’s spiraling because he’s disgusted by what happened between us, because he’s horrified that we crossed that line—then this might be the last time I get to touch him like this.
His breathing starts to even out slowly. The shaking in his shoulders fades, and his body goes slack against me. He pushes himself up with movements sluggish like he’s been underwater too long and slumps against the wall beside me. His head tips back, and his throat works as he swallows.
My gaze shifts to him, and he’s already looking back at me, something unreadable written across his face that makes my stomach twist. “Did we kiss?”
“Yes.”
He licks his lips and shakes his head. “I started remembering it, but I wasn’t sure if it was real. Thought maybe I’d lost my mind.”
I push myself to my feet, needing distance, needing air, needing anything but this conversation. He moves so fast he nearly trips over himself, planting his body in front of the door like a human barricade.
“Don’t walk away from me.”
“Mik—”
“I’m so sorry. I was wasted from the drugs, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Did I assault you? I can’t remember if you were into it or if I was just too high to notice you weren’t. I should have never—”
Assault me? What is he on about? I thought I was the one who made him uncomfortable.
“It wasn’t only you, Mikhail! Fuck, we both kissed, okay? It just happened.”
“You can blame me.” His voice softens, eyes pleading. “It’s okay. I was the one who—”
“I don’t want to blame you for anything. It’s no one’s fault. It just happened.”
He stays planted in front of the door, staring at me, confused and shocked.
The silence drags on too long, thick and uncomfortable.
“It just happened?”
“Yeah…”
He licks his lips, glances to the side, then forces his eyes back to mine. “Why would we kiss?”
“I don’t know, okay?” Stepping back, I throw my hands up, the frustration spilling out before I can stop it. “We just did.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me about it?”
“Because you were on too many benzos and you passed out right after, Mikhail. I knew you wouldn’t remember when you woke up. What was the point of bringing it up?”
“But I did remember.” His hands clench into fists at his sides. “I remember all of it now.”
“Listen,” I force the words out. “I think both of us are stressed out of our minds, alright? You’ve been planning that club event, and Father’s been pushing you about every little thing.
And I’m getting my DNA results in a few days, and that’s been messing with my head.
It was just… comfort. Something we did because we were overwhelmed. ”
The lie burns on my tongue like acid. It was so much more than that.
He shakes his head and mutters something about comfort while rubbing at his temple. “I just don’t know what to say, I—”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me ever again,” I say, taking another step back.
His nostrils flare, and he closes the distance between us in half a second, gripping my shoulders and dragging me toward him.
His hand comes up to grip my jaw, firm and possessive. “Don’t ever say that again. So what if we kissed? I kiss you all the time. Into your hair, your neck, sometimes even your hands. This time it was on your lips. What’s the difference?”
I scoff and try to look away, but he won’t let me. “That was a real kiss. That’s the difference. We’re brothers. We grew up in the same house, same family. This is so messed up and you know it…”
“I don’t care that we stepped over some invisible line,” he snaps, his voice rising with frustration.
“We had a fucked-up childhood, and we got no love except from each other. I can’t remember a single moment without you in it.
You’re the only person who takes care of me.
Who makes sure I eat. Who stays when everyone else would walk away. ”
I nod, swallowing hard, and his grip tightens on my jaw as he stares down at me with a curious expression, then licks his lips, opens his mouth, closes it again. Then, “Can we go away somewhere?”
“What?”
“To our cabin,” he blurts. “We haven’t been there since January, and I think it would be good. Get away from everything for a few days. Just to talk and decompress. We can open your DNA results there, clear the air, figure this out without everyone breathing down our necks.”
Is he fucking insane? Being stranded with him at the cabin sounds like the exact nightmare I don’t need right now. There’s no escape if we do that.
“I know what you’re thinking. But Danya, please. I need this. You need this. We need to talk about what’s been happening between us. I’m not doing this distance bullshit anymore. I’m done with it. It’s either this or I kidnap you, throw you in the trunk of the car, and drive there myself.”
“You don’t have a license,” I point out.
“I’ll drive anyway. What are they going to do, arrest me?”
My lip twitches.
“Just to clear the air,” he continues. “That’s all. And you can go home whenever you want to. I’m not going to trap you there, I promise. But please. I can’t keep doing this thing where you won’t look at me, and I don’t know what I did wrong.”
He didn’t do anything wrong… That’s the problem.
“Fine,” I say and throw my hands up in defeat because what else can I do?
He sags in relief like I just gave him oxygen, and before I can process what’s happening, he closes the distance and wraps his arms around me. His nose burrows into my hair, breathing me in like he’s been starving for it. My hands hover uselessly at my sides before settling awkwardly on his back.
“Just for a few days,” he murmurs against my hair. “Maybe five at most. This will be good, I promise you.”
“We can go home tonight and grab our stuff,” I mumble.
He hums in agreement and hugs me tighter, and I close my eyes and try not to think about how this is the worst idea either of us has ever had.
The cabin comes into view through the windshield, swallowed by darkness except for the security lights that flicker on as we pull up the drive.
It’s modern with black wood panels, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, an open living room that flows into the kitchen, and a pool out back. We bought it brand new two years ago.
Mikhail’s curled against the passenger window, snoring quietly.
My McLaren W1 has almost zero storage space, so we barely managed to cram two small duffel bags behind the headrests. But I made sure that food gets delivered tomorrow morning so we won’t starve, since neither of us thought to pack anything useful anyway.
I poke him, and he jerks awake, blinking at me in confusion before his gaze slides to the cabin through the window.
“I’ll get the bags.” He twists around in his seat and shoves the headrests down to grab the duffels.
Climbing out of the car, I head for the keypad mounted beside the door, punching in our code. The lock clicks open, and I push inside, flipping lights on as I go. Mikhail brushes past me with both bags slung over one shoulder and heads straight for the main bedroom.
He stops at the doorway and tosses the duffels onto the floor inside, then yawns. “I’m staying with you.”
“Mikhail.”
“Stop arguing with me, you’re making me lose my fucking mind. I can’t do this anymore, Danya. Just let me sleep in the same bed as you before this torture actually kills me.” He stomps into the room dramatically.
He still wants to share a bed with me after everything that happened?
Sighing, I follow after him and kick off my shoes and strip down to my boxers and t-shirt, tossing my jeans onto the floor. He does the same and peels his shirt over his head, revealing bruises blooming across his ribs in violent purples and yellows.
I saw the video Yulian sent me and watched the entire fight. Mikhail lost his mind in that cage, jumped the barrier, and went after someone in the crowd. Wonder what they said to him to set him off like that.
I climb onto the bed, and he throws himself onto it so hard the mattress jolts, sending me bouncing up before I settle back down with a laugh. He pats the spot next to him with that stupid grin on his face. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles, grabbing me and tugging me against him.