The White Sea stretched out before them, a sheet of molten silver under the pale northern sun, its icy breath curling around the jagged coastline. The rustic cabin perched on a cliffside seemed to teeter on the edge of the world, its weathered wood groaning under the weight of time and salt. Inside, the air smelled of damp pine and old wool, the kind of scent that clung to your skin like a memory you couldn’t shake. Zhenia dropped his duffel bag with a dramatic thud, the creaky floorboards protesting beneath his boots, and spun around to face Sasha with a grin that was all sharp edges and mischief.
“Well, darling, welcome to the ass-end of nowhere,” Zhenia drawled, his voice dripping with mock grandeur as he gestured to the sparse interior. A rickety table, two narrow bunks shoved against opposite walls, and a single grimy window framing the endless sea. “I hope you packed your sense of adventure. And maybe a spare personality, because I’m already bored.”
Sasha, all gangly limbs and furrowed brows, didn’t bother to hide his scowl as he hauled his own bag inside, nearly tripping over the uneven threshold. His dark eyes flicked to Zhenia, irritation flashing hot and quick. “If I’d known I’d be stuck with a mouthy prick for a month, I’d have stayed in Moscow and interned at a fucking landfill,” he muttered, brushing a lock of messy black hair out of his face. But even as the words left his lips, his gaze snagged on Zhenia’s lanky frame—lean and wiry, like a cat that always landed on its feet—and he quickly looked away, jaw tight.
Zhenia’s laugh was low and throaty, the kind of sound that seemed to curl into the corners of the room. He leaned against the nearest bunk, crossing his arms over his chest, his pale green eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Oh, come now, Sashka. Don’t pretend you’re not thrilled to be my captive audience. I’m a delight. Ask anyone.” He paused, tilting his head with a smirk. “Well, ask the right people. The wrong ones have no taste.”
Sasha snorted, dumping his bag on the floor with more force than necessary. “Yeah, I’ve heard plenty about you. Not sure ‘delight’ is the word they use.” He didn’t elaborate, but the implication hung heavy between them, a thread of gossip and half-whispered rumors about Zhenia’s preferences that had followed him like a shadow. Sasha’s ears burned at the thought, though he couldn’t quite say why.
Zhenia’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened, a blade honed by the challenge. “Oh, do tell. I love a good story about myself. Did they mention my charm? My devastating good looks?” He pushed off the bunk and sauntered closer, his boots scuffing against the floor. “Or are we diving straight into the scandalous bits? I’m all ears, city boy.”
Sasha stiffened, his broad shoulders squaring as if bracing for a fight, though his hands fidgeted with the strap of his bag. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice rougher than he intended. “And I’m not here to play your little games, alright? Let’s just get through this internship without killing each other.”
“Kill each other?” Zhenia echoed, feigning shock as he pressed a hand to his chest. “My dear, sweet Sasha, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’d much rather… torment you in other ways.” His tone dipped, playful but laced with something darker, something that made Sasha’s pulse stutter for reasons he refused to examine. Zhenia’s eyes flicked to the bunks, then back to Sasha. “Speaking of torment, I claim the top bunk. Better view of the sea. And of you, brooding down below.”
Sasha’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, a flush creeping up his neck. “Fuck off. I’m not sleeping under you.” The words came out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted the phrasing as Zhenia’s grin turned positively feral.
“Oh, Sasha,” Zhenia purred, stepping closer until the space between them felt charged, electric. “You say the sweetest things. But if you’re so eager to be on top, I’m open to negotiation. I’m very… flexible.”
“Shut up,” Sasha growled, shoving past him to claim the bottom bunk, his face burning as he tossed his bag onto the thin mattress. He could feel Zhenia’s gaze on him, hot and unrelenting, and it took everything in him not to turn around and snap again. Instead, he busied himself with unpacking, his movements jerky, while Zhenia’s soft chuckle echoed behind him.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of unpacking and pointed silence, broken only by Zhenia’s occasional quips about the cabin’s “rustic charm” and Sasha’s muttered retorts. By the time evening rolled around, the temperature had plummeted, and they found themselves huddled around a small fire just outside the cabin, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows across their faces. The White Sea roared in the distance, a restless beast that seemed to echo the tension simmering between them.
Zhenia lounged against a log, one long leg stretched out, a tin mug of cheap vodka dangling from his fingers. He took a sip, wincing at the burn, then fixed Sasha with a lazy, appraising look. “You know, for a city boy, you’re surprisingly hopeless out here. Nearly dropped the kindling twice. I’m starting to think you’ve never been outside a concrete jungle in your life.”
Sasha, sitting cross-legged on the ground with his own mug clutched tightly, shot him a glare over the fire. “I’m not hopeless. I just don’t prance around pretending I’m some fucking wilderness expert like you do. And stop calling me city boy. I’ve got a name.”
“Oh, I know your name, Sashka,” Zhenia said, his voice a low tease as he leaned forward, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face. “I just like watching you squirm when I don’t use it. It’s adorable. Like a puppy trying to growl.”
Sasha’s grip on his mug tightened, his knuckles whitening. “Call me adorable one more time, and I’ll shove that mug down your throat.”
Zhenia’s eyes gleamed, utterly unfazed. “Promises, promises. Careful, darling, I might hold you to it.” He took another sip, his gaze never leaving Sasha’s, and for a moment, the air between them crackled hotter than the fire. “But tell me, since you’re so prickly tonight—why’d you even sign up for this? A month in the middle of nowhere, with me of all people. Surely Moscow has better entertainment.”
Sasha stared into the flames, his jaw working as if chewing on the words before spitting them out. “Needed the credit. And the quiet. Didn’t expect to get stuck with a walking annoyance, though.” His eyes flicked to Zhenia, lingering despite himself on the way the other man’s shirt clung to his narrow shoulders, the way the firelight danced in his pale hair. He tore his gaze away, cursing inwardly.
Zhenia hummed, a knowing sound that made Sasha’s skin prickle. “Quiet, huh? Funny, because I’ve got a feeling you’re anything but quiet inside that thick skull of yours. All those brooding stares, those little flinches when I get too close… What’s going on in there, Sashka? Care to share?”
“Fuck off,” Sasha muttered again, the words lacking heat this time as he drained his mug in one go, the vodka burning a path down his throat. He stood abruptly, brushing dirt off his jeans. “I’m turning in. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”
Zhenia watched him go, his smirk softening into something almost thoughtful as Sasha disappeared into the cabin. “Sweet dreams, city boy,” he called after him, just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the sea. Then, alone by the fire, he tipped his head back and laughed softly to himself, the sound swallowed by the night.
Inside, Sasha collapsed onto his bunk, the thin mattress creaking under his weight. He stared at the underside of the top bunk, listening to the distant crash of waves against the shore, a relentless rhythm that matched the restless churn in his chest. Zhenia’s voice echoed in his head—those teasing jabs, that infuriating smirk, the way his eyes seemed to see right through him. Irritation warred with something else, something heavier, something Sasha couldn’t name and didn’t want to. He turned onto his side, pulling the scratchy blanket over his shoulder, and tried to drown out the noise—both outside and within.
But the waves kept crashing, and sleep remained just out of reach.
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