The room embraced the scent of oranges, fresh furniture, and Chinese food. It wrapped around the three men resting on the five-seat, white sofa in the bright living room. Delightful, really. It reminded Andrei of something sweet and familiar, comforting, like home. The couch was just soft enough to sink into but not drown. Cream and full. The ninety-inch TV hanging on the wall far from them played Easy-E quietly.
The moonlight slipped in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one edge of the apartment. It held up a glass balcony with black furniture too. The shimmer gently rolled onto the kitchen island, casting a short gleam. The marble countertops sparkled practically and glowed at the natural light.
"I'm so thirsty," Arseni suddenly announced. A vibration of motion spread through the tiny glass table that held maybe a hundred dollars worth of takeout. It bounced off of the walls and found itself swallowed in between the cream couch cushions. He rose from his spot and unbuttoned his dress shirt. Ink, all over. A brisk turn followed while his voice jumped between octaves. "Do either of you want vodka? I'm getting vodka, I can't stand bourbon. This is a black man's drink." He shivered. Genuinely, grabbing both his shoulders and making the movements.
Andrei rolled his crystallized eyes. "That's racist. Just get more Hennessy." A low sigh left him as he downed the rest of the bottle. The shape of a flask fit between his thick fingers, alcohol flowing through his veins like Nirvana. He dipped his head to the side with a grunt. "He's a little drunk, don't mind him," he warned his boyfriend, eye to eye with him. The other boy nodded knowingly. His pink hair dusted with rain droplets and other debris. It sifted into his eyes, bangs pretty and sparkly. His lips were pressed into a small O that was delicate enough to ruin Andrei's steel heart.
The boy shook his head. He signaled a no with his hands. "I think he's cute! He calls your parents mommy and daddy. It's adorable, usually intoxicated people are abusive or violent in some type of way." Spoken in a hushed, soft tone like everything else Yoonjae seemed to do.
A groan echoed once more before the sound of retreating footsteps began and Arseni had disappeared into one of the rooms.
Andrei bobbed his head solemnly. One of his arms slinked around Yoonjae's waist with practiced ease. His eyes relaxed on the smaller boy's luscious lips. "Hm. 'Kay. I can't stand it. It's odd, I don't think he realizes how it sounds when he's in his twenties calling our parents mommy and daddy." He winced dramatically. A wave of his now-empty hand said 'kinda.' "We haven't talked in person in a while so I kinda forgot he did that."
The pink-haired one only shook his head. Adamantly, like you couldn't tell him yes if you wanted to. "It's okay. He's an immigrant so it doesn't matter! O-or is that...r-racist?" Andrei cooed, so sweet and careful. He worried too much, nothing in the world could phase Andrei more than a drunk and a sweetheart. His tone was always so doll-like, Prince-coded yet, it wasn't egotistical or overly aggressive.
"You're an immigrant," Andrei stated carefully. A brow cocked as though he was questioning Yoonjae's soft, lilting words. Though he didn't expect the reaction he got, he still smiled at it.
"I was born in California, Andrei!" Yoonjae exclaimed, eyes wide. He put one hand on Andrei's thigh. "I'm not an immigrant, hihi......"
"Yeah but you also called me 'Hyung' twenty minutes ago. I think that's cute," Andrei reasoned. The conversation fell too fluidly for Andrei to be interested in anything other than the way Yoonjae looked when surprised. Or the way his eyes sparkled when the light hit it just right. Purple, or maybe golden, it was a hard thing to duplicate and Andrei didn't want to. Not anymore. He wanted to stare into those eyes until twenty-forty-eight. Until his eyes bled from dryness.
And when the boy batted his lashes with a sly blush? Andrei took a hit straight in the gut.
"Don't talk like that, hihi....." A sharp breath. "You're cute. Your brother is really sweet. I was expecting him to be an asshole, no hate. You made him sound kind of like that."
Andrei scratched his head. "He usually is. He's a little unprofessional but the rest is pretty good. He cuts his hair and I don't know, goes to church on Sundays and gives thousands of dollars to those like bowl things." Andrei mimicked the action with his hands.
"Tithes?"
"I don't know, princess." Andrei muffled a soft laugh with his lip between his teeth.
Yoonjae giggled. "I think that's what you mean! Everyone where I'm from does that type of thing. One church got robbed near my house though, like in First Sunday! I know you probably think that stuff is unrealistic but no, no it's not. It's safer here!"
"I'm happy you think so." Andrei analyzed him from top to bottom. The welcoming side part, the way his eyes fluttered contently, his warm-tinted cheeks, his plump lips. The red, purple-ish bruises on his neck from their first kiss. To the cardigan and pretty thighs. "Hm. I lived upstate when I first got here and one of my friends got shot."
"Trauma dumping?" It was soft, lilting, and probably not Yoonjae. But the boy froze anyway. Andrei sighed. He cranked his head slightly at the tiny voice. He knew that voice over everything in the world and he would hand feed the owner of the voice diamonds until she gave him a hug. Because Yoonjae hadn't said the two words, he likely didn't state that so broadly in their conversation, it'd be too awkward for the both of them to handle. So, who was it?
Well.
Standing at three feet of pure, unadulterated maturity, her giant eyes were held to two slits as she glared at the men in the room. A black and brown fur coat that was twice the size of her climbed up her neck and covered her knees. Her posture perfect even with one leg bent. Kitten heels gave her an extra inch, and blue eyes gave her that confidence no one her age needed. She cocked a fading brow that matched the color of her thick hair that sat above her head in a bun. Lips similar to Cupid's baby, the bottom one jerked out without complaint.
And since she was a princess, something always stood with her.
Something bigger than her in spirit and smaller than her head. It sat in her arms, pressed to her tiny chest like a baby, shaking. Shivering despite the warmth of the new home. A teacup chihuahua with fur as dark as the night and a prince name tag. It was encrusted and in Cyrillic. He wore a blazer that fit over his oversized chest in white and red necktie tucked into it. On his paws, there were blue booties.
"Uncle Drisha," she whispered in Russian. "Can I have?" Her Russian was slurred and lisped in the way toddlers sound, sweet and innocent. Something to be protected. She smacked her lips once, then twice, and stared at her uncle with those squinted eyes.
Andrei faced her. He eyed her baby body. The owner of the tender voice. "Yeah, of course, Geyushka. Come here," Andrei murmured in the same mother tongue. The words curled around, almost foreign through his mental translator. Her tiny legs stomped on those heels with more power than a warden. She stumbled, loose and shaky. "I'm okay," her voice exclaimed before anyone could say anything about it. Andrei waited patiently, patting his lap.
Her eyes returned to their normal upturned position the moment she reached the trays of food. An insidious display of Chinese takeout that wasn't that necessary. Smelling of chicken, vegetables, and styrofoam. Now, milk. A waft of it spread as the small girl walked around without much to say. Sleep was still prominent on her mind, Andrei guessed.
"I learn English," she suddenly chirped, just like her father.
"That's great, Geyushka. Can we speak English now to you?" Andrei's smile widened.
A pause.
"Why is new...person here, Drishdrisha? My house..right?" She frowned. Those big and pretty eyes glistened when she leaned back. She subtly grabbed a chicken wing and stared at Andrei. Her fingers trembled.
Andrei nodded. "Yes, kid. This is your house. He's my friend, so we were just eating with your dad. We'll go soon." He rested a palm on her lower back as she orbited the table like a hungry bird.
The older man couldn't help watching her. Maybe his boyfriend couldn't either.
Yoonjae cleared his throat and only Gaia Smirnov, the tiny daredevil in Prada, glanced up at him. She blushed. Bright pink. Freckles all over her nose, all over her eyelids, and into her brows. "H-hi..." Russian spread its way over her American accent as well.
"Hi! I'm-I'm Yoonjae! You can call me whatever you want, though! What's your name?" He batted his lashes again. Andrei stared at him. Not a thing he does when flustered; just a thing he does. Cute. The man thought.
Gaia didn't spare him another glance, unfortunately. She nodded shakily and tugged her dog tighter.
A few moments of tense silence fueled by the abruptness of her arrival, she blinked at Andrei.
Andrei watched her, his mouth an O and his brows knit.
She looked between him and the food. Him and the food.
"Uh, yeah, Gaia?" he asked.
"Can you make me a plate, Drishadrisha?" she muttered, chewing on her lip.