Classes were over when Noel and Yuri left the medical room. The afternoon sun shone on the now-quiet schoolyard; the birch trees in front of the building cast long shadows on the path. At the gate, Petya was already waiting with two greasy paper packages in his hands—fried chicken wings from a stall near the train station, the only place in their district that sold Western food.
They sat on a park bench near the school, under an ash tree whose leaves were starting to yellow even though it was only early September. In the distance, an old tram passed by with a clattering sound, taking factory workers home from the evening shift. The air was starting to get cold, a sign that summer would soon turn to autumn.
Noel stared at the french fries without appetite—while the fragment of memory when Terenti said that Alexei was only using him as an outlet kept echoing in Noel's mind.
Petya, who was sitting on the same bench, right next to Noel—not facing him, because the park bench only fit two people—noticed the young man's mood. "Are the chicken wings not good?" he asked, looking at the still-intact package in Noel's hand.
Noel was startled when his reverie was broken by Petya's question. He replied, "Ah, no, the chicken wings are good." Noel then ate them.
Petya looked at Noel, who wasn't acting like his usual self. "Does Senior have a problem? Just say it! I'll help as much as I can."
Noel smiled, then ruffled the young man's dark brown hair. "It's not a big problem. Maybe you can help me another time." Noel's statement made Petya feel a little relieved.
"Noel!" Yuri called from the other side of the bench, as he was forced to sit on the ground facing them. Noel turned. "Don't dwell too much on what happened back there!" he continued, gently stroking Noel's back, trying to make his friend feel calmer.
"Hmmnn... thank you, you really are my best friend. I don't know what my life would be like without you," Noel said, ending with a small laugh.
A friend.
Petya observed them both with narrowed eyes. He saw how Yuri looked at Noel—not like a friend looking at a friend. But he didn't say anything. He just bit into his chicken wing harder, pretending not to see.
Yuri looked at Noel with a wistful gaze. Like a child watching a rabbit from afar. In his heart, he really liked that rabbit and wanted to have it, but the child was afraid the rabbit would run away if he got too close.
An old memory came unbidden. At that time, Noel had just turned seven, Yuri was eight—though their actual age difference was only a few months. They were sitting in the backyard, sharing a piece of bread sprinkled with sugar because there was nothing sweeter in the kitchen.
"Whenever I'm with you, I feel like we're siblings," Noel said at that time, with his clear blue eyes looking at Yuri without a care. Yuri just smiled, didn't answer.
At first, Yuri thought it was based on a non-blood brotherhood, but gradually he realized that his feelings weren't just about brotherhood; there was another feeling growing larger and dominating his heart.
And now, on that cooling afternoon, Yuri sat on the mossy ground watching Noel laugh softly with Petya. He wanted to say something. But the words were always stuck in his throat, like a thorn that couldn't be swallowed or spat out.
In the distance, the last tram passed by carrying passengers home. Birch leaves fell slowly, covering the ground with pale yellow. And Yuri could only remain silent, letting that feeling continue to grow in the quiet.
*
On Sundays, if Noel didn't have an overtime shift at the café where he worked, he usually lazed around at home, even if just lying about like a stuffed cat. But not this time; Noel had another activity to fill his free time. With a small brush, dipped in watercolor—not oil paint, because oil paint was too expensive for mere idle amusement—Noel applied the brush to a plain sheet of white paper. Starting to draw something, the young man looked serious with the painting supplies Yuri had given him a few weeks ago as a friendship gift. In the corner of the cramped living room, using a small wooden table as a base, Noel sat cross-legged on the floor covered with a thin, worn-out rug. Outside the window, the Moscow sky that afternoon was pale gray, clouds hanging low like wet cotton that refused to drift away.
The sound of the telephone ringing from the living room broke his concentration. Feeling slightly disturbed, Noel finally got up from his seat to pick up the receiver. Mobile phones were still a luxury item owned by only a handful of people in 1992—especially for a young man like Noel. The landline telephone, with its long cord coiled in the corner of the room, was the only way to connect with the outside world. It turned out to be Alexei. The voice from the other end sounded after Noel answered the call.
"Are you busy?"
Noel looked at his half-finished painting on the table, then answered, "Not really."
A soft laugh sounded from the other end of the line. "If you're not busy, come outside. I'm in front of your house."
Noel hurried to the small balcony on the second floor—more accurately, just a narrow ledge barely wide enough for one person to stand, with an iron railing rusted in some parts—to look down. After scanning the surroundings, the young man didn't find Alexei or his motorcycle, but rather a metallic black BMW 3 Series parked in front of his house—a car far too luxurious for a working-class neighborhood like this. Soon, a young man emerged holding a mobile phone—a black square device still rare in that year, belonging to Alexei, who indeed came from a wealthy family. He looked up, waving at him.
A thin smile spread across Noel's lips; without wasting time, he immediately went down to approach Alexei.
The front door creaked as Noel opened it. The Moscow evening air felt cool, the wind blowing from the east carrying the distinctive scent of summer that would soon change. On the sidewalk, a neighbor hanging laundry stared at the black car with eyes half envious, half curious. Noel ignored the stare; his focus was only on one person.
"Noel, I've been waiting for you," Alexei said, hugging his lover tightly as soon as the young man reached him.
"Ugh, Alexei, I can't breathe. Let me go!"
Alexei released his hug from Noel's slender body and opened his car door. "Get in!"
Noel frowned. "Where to?"
"Just get in." Alexei took Noel's hand and pushed him into the car; the young man entered through the passenger door afterward.
Sitting on the soft leather seat, Noel felt a comfort foreign to him. The scent of air freshener—something like pine and a hint of wood—filled the narrow space. He almost forgot that a world like this existed, that someone could own a car with working AC and seats that weren't sagging from age.
"Where are we going?"
"To my place." Alexei started the car engine. It hummed smoothly, a contrast to the roar of the old motorcycle Alexei usually used to pick him up. The car drove along the somewhat quiet streets toward their destination.
*
The journey took about twenty minutes. Alexei drove along Leningradsky Prospekt, one of Moscow's main thoroughfares, impressively wide. On both sides, Stalinist-style buildings alternated with typical Soviet-era high-rises that were beginning to show their age. However, the deeper they entered the elite district, the view changed: new apartment buildings with glass and marble facades, cleaner streets, and neatly arranged trees. Alexei parked his car in the basement of a high-rise building in the Tverskoy district—one of the most prestigious areas in central Moscow.
"This is your apartment?" Noel asked, sweeping the entire front room of the apartment with an awed gaze.
The overall walls were cream white with touches of mahogany wood in some areas; the shiny marble floor reflected light from a simple chandelier on the ceiling. A large glass window stretched from the floor almost to the ceiling, facing west—a comfortable spot to watch the blazing sun set in the afternoon. On the other side of the room, wooden shelves were filled with leather-bound books that looked expensive. Alexei nodded, taking off his leather jacket and hanging it behind the door.
"Do you live alone?" Noel was still standing at the doorway, hesitant to step further. He felt his feet were too dirty for this marble floor.
Alexei shook his head. "No, I'll live with you if you're willing." He looked back at Noel, who was still following him with hesitant steps. The handsome young man—with light brown hair slightly messy from his helmet, warm hazel eyes, and a height nearly half a head taller than Noel—continued walking until he reached his room. And as soon as one of Noel's feet crossed the threshold of Alexei's room, Noel immediately gazed around the entire space without blinking. The room was spacious, with a king-size bed dressed in clean white sheets, a dark wooden desk by the window, and a thick gray carpet that looked soft just by gazing at it. "It must be comfortable to live in such a luxurious room."
Alexei chuckled softly. "Father chose it for me back then. He said, if he had to live in Moscow, at least he should live in a decent place."
"Do you like it?" Alexei asked, seating himself on the edge of the bed. Noel didn't know what to say until Alexei said, "Come here!"
Noel sat down beside Alexei. Their distance was only a handspan apart. Noel could smell the scent of soap and a faint trace of perfume that always clung to his lover. "You are my beloved; everything I have is yours," Alexei spoke close to Noel's ear, sending a ticklish sensation around the young man's neck.
Slowly, Alexei's fingers turned Noel's face to look intently at him, gazing at his lover's handsome yet sweet face. Noel's cheeks were clean white with a few faint freckles near his nose. His somewhat long blonde hair now hung loose, not tied back as usual. His clear blue eyes stared back with a mixture of nervousness and trust. Truly a beauty different from what was typically attributed to a woman.
Alexei smiled faintly; he moved closer, closing the distance to give a small peck on the thin lips before him.
Noel's face heated up until his cheeks turned red. He closed his eyes as he felt Alexei's lips move to nibble his upper lip, sucking sensually until its owner let out a soft moan.
But when Alexei's hand began to wander downward, touching his waist in the same way—the same way Terenti had done when he pinned him in that dark alley, pulling him forcibly onto the cold asphalt—something inside Noel broke.
"That bastard Alex, he couldn't get Nate so he switched to this little rabbit."
"Let me tell you one thing, you're just being used as his outlet."
Terenti's words—spoken that night, when a cold knife touched his cheek, when he could do nothing but surrender—echoed again in Noel's ears, making his instincts react quickly.
"Alexei, let go of me!" Noel struggled, trying to break free in a panic. His body trembled beneath the young man's embrace, but Alexei didn't want to release him until a sound of flesh striking flesh filled the entire room.
Noel had just slapped Alexei.
[•°]