Chapter 30 - Marco
On the way home, Alexei was different.
He didn’t speak to me.
Barely at all. I heard him mutter something under his breath in Russian but I didn’t understand most of it.
I wanted to ask but I didn’t, because asking Alexei what was wrong when he was in this kind of mood was like trying to open a locked door by talking to it.
When we got home, he went straight to the balcony.
I stood in the living room for a moment, uncertain, then I moved toward the balcony slowly.
He was smoking, but he extinguished the cigarette the instant I entered the space.
“Don’t come around me when I’m smoking,” he said, not turning around. “It’s not good for you.”
I pressed my lips together slowly.
He was protecting me from secondhand smoke while simultaneously refusing to look at me.
That was very Alexei. “Did I do something to make you mad?” I asked quietly. “You’ve been quiet.”
He shifted. He seemed uncomfortable. “You didn’t. I’m just—”
I watched him struggle with the words. Alexei was spectacularly bad at speaking his emotions out loud.
I reached down and took his hand. “Tell me.”
He exhaled. “You never kiss my head,” his tone was accusatory. “Why do you kiss his?”
He had seen me kiss Rei’s head.
Which meant he had either watched through the hospital window, or he had some kind of camera access to Rei’s room. So he was jealous.
That was cute.
“My apologies, baby,” I said softly. “I didn’t know you wanted that.”
His eyes widened.
It was the first time I had ever called him that. I had thought about it before but I never said it out loud because it had always felt too soft for him. But it came out now.
Naturally.
I got on my tiptoes.
His height was always an issue, but I had learned to compensate. I reached up with both hands, caught the sides of his face, and guided him down toward me. I kissed the top of his head.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Five.
Then I kissed his face. His forehead first. Then his temple.
Then the corner of his eyebrow. Then his cheekbone.
Then the bridge of his nose. Then the other cheek.
Then his jaw. Then back up to his forehead again, pressing my lips against his skin like I was trying to memorize the architecture of him through touch alone.
His hands had come up to rest on my waist and I pulled back, just enough to see his face.
His eyes were closed and his expression was something I had never seen before.
“Alexei,” I whispered. “I’ll kiss your head every day, if you want.”
His voice was vulnerable in a way I had only heard a handful of times before: “Yes.”
I smiled, and he pulled me against his chest, and my heart didn’t hurt anymore.
***
A few days later, the door burst open with a blur of blond hair.
That was my first warning.
“MARIOOOOO! I’M HERE!”
Ilya.
He came through the doorway like a small tornado with legs. He had three different bags hanging off his arms, and he was heading straight for me with the clear intent of launching himself at me like a missile.
He wanted to hug me.
I could see it in the way his arms were already extending, his whole body leaning forward, his trajectory locked. Alexei’s hand caught the back of his collar before he made contact.
Ilya’s arms hung in the air for a second, still extended toward me, his momentum arrested mid-lunge. He pouted.
“Fucking mood killer,” he muttered.
Ilya turned back to me, his expression shifting back to delighted in the span of a heartbeat.
“Mario,” he said, holding up one of the bags with the triumphant air of a man presenting treasure. “I brought you so many snacks.”
“Snacks,” Alexei said flatly.
“Mind your own business,” Ilya replied without looking at him. “I’m not here to see you.”
Alexei’s jaw tightened.
Ilya ignored this entirely, waddled past him with his arms full of bags, and made his way to the couch where I was sitting. He dropped onto the cushion beside me with a satisfied sigh, the bags crinkling as he set them down between us.
He kind of knew about my situation.
He had to. He was the one who had hacked my medical files. He hadn’t said anything directly to me about it, but there was something in the way he looked at me sometimes that told me he understood more than he let on.
He started unpacking the bags.
There were a lot of snacks. An unreasonable amount, but half of them were already opened.
Bags of gummies with the corner torn off. A box of cookies that was clearly missing its top layer. A package of dried fruit that had been picked through.
He followed my gaze to the evidence of his own snacking and shrugged without a trace of guilt. “The thought matters, Mario.”
I shook my head, amused.
“It’s the thought that counts,” I corrected gently.
“That’s what I said.”
I laughed.
I really liked Ilya. He was funny. I mean, he was loud and ridiculous and had the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel, but underneath all of that, there was something genuinely good about him. Something that made me feel safe, and he could be super cute too.
He settled back into the couch, tucking his legs underneath him, and grabbed a half-eaten bag of gummies from the pile.
“Soooo,” he said, chewing. “Have you talked to Sasha lately?”
I had recently found out that Sasha had a crush on Kento.
Who also happened to be Ilya’s enemy.
I didn’t know the full history there. I picked up enough fragments to understand that whatever existed between Ilya and Kento was not the kind of rivalry that could be resolved with conversation and a handshake.
“Ummm,” I said, the syllable stretching out as my brain scrambled for a safe response. “A bit. Not much lately.”
Ilya nodded slowly, his expression shifting into something knowing and judgmental.
“Well,” he said, pointing a gummy at me, “I think you should make better friends, Mario.”
I blinked.
“She obviously has shit taste in men,” he continued. “I can’t imagine her being any good at anything if her judgment is that bad.”
I pressed my lips together.
This was dangerous territory.
“Mhm,” I said carefully, nodding. “Thank you for the advice.”
“Of course!” Ilya beamed. “That’s what friends are for.”
He crammed another handful of gummies into his mouth.
“Anyway. Here. Look over this.”
He pulled out a file, then turned and threw it across the room toward Alexei, who was still standing near the kitchen counter watching. Ilya was already on his feet, gathering himself. “I’ll go annoy Rai now,” he announced.
Then he was at the door, then through it, then gone. “Has he always been this…” I started, searching for the right word. “Hyperactive?”
Alexei didn’t look up from the file he was already reading. “Yes,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the file.
He turned a page. “Nothing you should worry about, just some things I have to get done for Dimitri.”
I didn’t ask questions because the things he did for Dimitri usually involved murder, and yes, I was aware Alexei was a killer. I witnessed it firsthand, and I didn’t agree with it, but I accepted it long ago.