Work Text:
Love came in the strangest of places, for Grisha, he never expected to find love the place he did.
The moon shone its vibrant silver, a nearly gleeful contrast to the dirty streets and coldness in the air. The street lamps were dimly lit, and the air could nearly freeze bugs with how cold it was.
It was dark, it was past midnight. Grisha was finally able to return home after a hard day of working; he would be returning to a somewhat warmer apartment, but it would do nothing to warm him on the inside.
He was tired, he had two days before he was allowed to step foot inside the research centre again: one mistake at it would go up in a pile of toxicity and death, it could kill in an instant, and kill any survivors, slowly, inside and out.
Grisha found that a rather unpleasant way to go, so he strictly adhered to the schedule he and his colleagues had been given.
The lamplights were yellow in colour and reminded him of illness, they were a pale yellow, a hideous colour. It was something that seemed to ruin his mood even more.
But strangely, nothing tugged on him, he didn’t feel annoyed, nor could he feel an expression on his face. It was all rather cold, it was never warm, fuzzy or anything but nothingness in this sad and vengeful era of humanity.
When he got home, he would untie his boots, take off his itchy scarf and make himself a cup of tea. He would sit down with a book he had gotten from one of the teenaged boys with too much free time on his hands, and he would eat a simple meal before heading to bed.
The book would be one from the west, since his fellow countrymen were curious and yearned for the outside world, they wanted to know the songs, the media produced on the outside, and they wanted to read their books.
Even Grisha was curious, but he didn’t dare risk losing everything he had built for himself in this pitiful life of his. It had taken a long time to get that apartment and a comfortable bed: big enough for two, but for some reason only having one.
He doesn’t even remember that book’s title, nor the author.
There sits a lone house belonging to a farmer’s family, their ladder sits outside, inviting travelers to walk under it. Grisha makes a huge distance between himself and that godforsaken ladder.
The family used to own a black cat, it didn’t take long for rumours to spread. They got rid of it shortly after, much to their children’s dismay.
His suitcase is small, it doesn’t fit much, not that it needs to either. There isn’t much to carry besides papers.
Grisha walks a while longer before finding the small village he passes on this path he passes more than once every week. A solitude house marks the start of the village.
It belonged to a guy named Ivan and his wife Ivana. They were an elderly couple, but they were nearly the same person. They had the same temperament, the same values and yet they argued like bears.
Perhaps it was due to their likeness to one another that they had distaste for each other. Ivan died first and Ivana followed soon after. That was five months ago.
And yet, a passerby sits on the steps to the solitary house. His eyes are small and black, they look strange, and suddenly Grisha remembers the people of Asia.
He has yet to talk to an Asian person in his sad miserable life. The Asian, the most exotic thing Grisha will likely experience, has a cigarette in his mouth.
The Asian is smoking proficiently, and holding the wrong end. What a stupid way to go, Grisha silently thinks to himself.
He walks up to the Asian, being ignited with things he hasn’t felt since he was a young boy. Grisha doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but it makes him step up to the young man with black hair and exotic features.
They make eye contact and Grisha stops short of standing on the steps the man is sitting on. Pale blue eyes meet Dark and wandering eyes. “You're smoking the wrong end.” Grisha says briskly. The man below him lifts an eyebrow before snorting.
“Do you want one?” He asks calmly with upturned lips. They seem teasing, bordering on mocking, but the only thing Grisha can focus on is the shaky smile.
It’s odd to see in a place like this, yet Grisha welcomes it. It feels nice to see one.
He sits beside him softly. The steps have been salted. The freezing man hands him one with shaking rose-tinted fingers. It has been a long time since Grisha smoked, with the guidance of his local priest.
After lighting it with the lighter provided, the atmosphere settles again. “What are you doing out here with such flimsy clothing?” Grisha decides that is a suitable question to start a conversation, something he desperately needs.
There were other things he wanted to ask: what are you doing here at night? Where are you from? Who did you get your unique features from? What’s your favourite colour? Do you want to go home with me?
“Not even asking for my name? I thought you Soviets were supposed to be gentlemen.” This time Grisha blinked, it didn't even register that the man was dodging the question. “Some of us are, I suppose.”
The man chuckled, it was a soft thing; befitting of his manners. His moves were soft and well coordinated, everything he did had a purpose. “Not you?”
Grisha locked eyes with the man again. They were no longer mocking, now they were just teasing. He took out his hand to shake. “My name is Grisha.” The man opposite returned the gesture. “My name is Zhou Mingrui.” How exotic.
“What are you doing in Europe, Zhou Mingrui?” The name was obviously foreign as it rolled on his tongue. Was he here to study? Was he a military apart of the exchange?
Zhou Mingrui smile remained, it seemed etched into his skin. It shone bright and made his eyes seem like they liked you. Did he like Grisha? If asked, it would undoubtedly be a giant no.
“I’m here to work.” Zhou Mingrui answered honestly with a shrug. Grisha stared. His thinly veiled shoulders and somewhat visible collarbones were a sight for sore eyes.
Grisha leaned a tad bit closer. “As?” He hoped it wasn’t cheap Factory work, that was rather demanding, and was unbefitting of a person like Zhou Mingrui.
The beauty opposite him gave a sharp laugh of surprise. Had he said that out loud?
“You must be tired, good sir.” Zhou Mingrui looked at the cigarette in his hand with a fond look. “I have just worked a 20 hour shift.” He said bluntly. “I sure hope my schedule won’t be as demeaning, considering I’ll be paid the same as everyone else.”
“You haven’t found work yet?” Grisha asked, surprised. Zhou Mingrui looked at him oddly, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone again.
“No, but I have been making my way around here trying to find some.” Zhou Mingrui stated. “Then what are you doing out here?” Grisha asked. Zhou Mingrui held the cigarette between his lips for a while before answering him.
“I haven’t found a place to live either.” He admitted. Grisha should almost host a party with all this luck being sent his way. “You could stay at mine.” He suggested to the poor homeless young man.
Zhou Mingrui tilted his head. He was still smiling. He looked at his clothing, the suitcase in his hands and then finally answered.
“Are you going to put a gun to my head if I say no?” He asked, seemingly teasing. “I do not own a gun.” Grisha answered, feeling his luck slip away faster than his sanity during family get-togethers. His heart pounded, as he waited for the real answer.
The man hesitated.
“Do you have spare clothes?” Zhou Mingrui was unusually hesitant, and his smile was somewhat nervous. Grisha nodded. He had plenty. “Okay then.”
Zhou Mingrui hadn’t been given a reason not to trust him, and Grisha had no reason not to trust him. It seemed this relation could go a long way if handled properly.
But they hadn’t been given a reason to trust each other either. Grisha hoped he could continue to learn about the man beside him.
“Do you have anything with you, besides to cigarettes and lighter?” He asks, to be polite. Zhou Mingrui’s smile has returned to normal. “The clothes on my back.”
“Funny.” Grisha deadpans. They’re still sitting on the step, but this time; with the agreement in place, the atmosphere is much nicer.
“Where do you live, Grisha?” This time Zhou Mingrui took the conversation and decided to lead. “It’s close to here, actually.” He answered calmly, fiddling with the cigarette still in his hand. “These are good, by the way. Where did you buy them?”
The smile he got in return was one with pride and joy. “Back in China, they were my dad’s parting gift.” Zhou Mingrui said. His smiled softened as he seemed to remember something comforting.
“My dad’s job is rather stable, but my mother is terminally ill.“ Grisha hummed, trying to show compassion. “What about your parents?” Zhou Mingrui then asked.
He felt as if he should choose his words carefully. “My father is a religious man, and my mother much the same.” Zhou Mingrui nodded, but seemed to be slightly miffed about not receiving many details.
“Is your family religious, Zhou Mingrui?” The man in question shrugged. “They didn’t place that much importance on it, but I suppose every family has their suppositions.” Grisha looks back on his avoidance of the farmer’s house and finds himself agreeing.
“That’s something I can heavily agree to.” He points down to the path he came. “There is a house farther down the road, they used to have a black cat and their ladder is still outside their house, nearly on the street. The villagers here avoid it like the plague.”
“Is there a supposition about avoiding black cats?” Grisha shrugs, he doesn’t remember why or how it came to. “I suppose so. Even I avoid them.”
Zhou Mingrui laughed. “I remember one of my friends back home. He climbed ladders; why? He was unemployed and found it a good way to train. He’d climb onto the roof his house, then get back on the ladder and climb down again.”
He nodded to show he was listening. “He usually had one of his buddies keeping the other side down, but one of those days, that buddy had gone out drinking right before being found to hold the ladder, so, as my friend was climbing that ladder, he walked away from it, and my friend fell back first.”
“I’ve been careful around ladders ever since.” Grisha felt something in his gut about that story was off, but he didn’t say anything. He decided to inquire.
“What happened to this friend of yours?” Zhou Mingrui looked up at the dark sky. “He’s paralysed now. The family has had it rough ever since.” He spoke as if he didn’t care. Maybe he didn’t, maybe he didn’t want to feel.
Grisha felt he needed to share something about himself.
“I personally haven’t encountered such disasters. I suppose something good comes from praying every Sunday.”
The last day of the week, ended in prayer and a hope for a peaceful week to come. That peace may never come, but it sounded like he wasn’t all that unlucky after all.
Zhou Mingrui just looked at him with a smile. He couldn’t tell whether he was fine with so little being provided or if he was silently judging him.
Grisha looked at his watch, feeling awkward. He should’ve been home by now. Suddenly, his face registered the biting cold of the air.
His temporary roommate was still shaking, and his voice had been shaking ever since Grisha sat down, and probably before that also. He felt dumb and so stupidly oblivious.
“Let’s get to my place.” Grisha stood up with ease, but Zhou Mingrui was much slower. “Zhou Mingrui, do you need my jacket?” He asked, worried. He threw the cigarettes onto the step below them.
“Yes please.” Zhou Mingrui said with a smile. Grisha took it off immediately, he would still be warm when they arrived back to his place. He handed it to his freezing counterpart.
Zhou Mingrui abandoned his fluidity to put on the jacket as fast as possible. It was relieving to see it wasn’t all he was.
Fluidity and grace. A calming smile to soothe your nerves, and a personality to charm the uncharmable. It wasn’t necessarily Grisha’s ideal, so it was something he could admit to.
“Thanks for warming it for me, oh good sir.” He sounded a lot happier now. Zhou Mingrui’s movements were much more pronounced now.
Grisha chuckled a bit on the inside; it was like seeing a kid being allowed outside after a long day of staying indoors.
They started walking.
Snow crushed beneath their feet. It wasn’t slippery, but it was cold, but it would be stupid to expect otherwise in winter. But, not all of it was white, there was also the brown slush.
It was a miracle it was even there. Why was it there? It wasn’t nearly warm enough, the sun wasn’t out— although there was frozen dirt?
Sometimes things just didn’t make sense.
Zhou Mingrui rubbed his hands together. “What’s your favourite season?” Grisha didn’t slow down to look at him, neither did he. They looked straight ahead, Zhou Mingrui a bit more lost, but just occasionally glancing at Grisha to maybe catch a glimpse of familiarity in his eyes as they walked past many structures.
“Spring. There’s a bit more life in everything.” Grisha finally decided, after looking over each season in his head. “Why not summer?” Zhou Mingrui asked, his eyes lighthearted.
“Food can spoil.”
“…. Does your house smell in the summer seasons?”
“Apartment,“ he corrected, “and no, I have a fridge.” Zhou Mingrui did a double take. Grisha felt as if he had done something wrong. “Well.” Zhou Mingrui quickly cleared the atmosphere that was quickly growing awkward. “My favourite season is Summer.”
“There’s a lot of delicious fruit to eat.” Grisha nodded. He felt more and more like an outsider in this two-man conversation. “My most disliked season is winter.” Grisha stated calmly; keeping the conversation going. “More specifically January.”
The many shades of grey that made up the apartment complex he lived at started to show its ugly self. He didn’t know why he didn’t like January, nor why he detested this vile place.
What was the meaning behind his hatred? Was it a future self’s guidance, or perhaps it could even be God, trying to pull the strings of a man lost in a current of failure and steady faith.
Perhaps he would find himself waking up tomorrow and the fellow beside him would be revealed as his saviour, maybe he was a divine messenger here to give him his calling? Or maybe, this man would lead him down a path he couldn’t run from.
A path he couldn’t avoid or dodge away from. Maybe Zhou Mingrui lived under the same pressure.
Or maybe, they were just here. Humans, trying to find their way around: leaning on each other in the process.
Only God, the almighty one, would know.
“I dislike Autumn.” The fall? “Is it because of less crops?” Grisha asked, following the line of his previous answer.
“It’s a rather depressing season. Sure, winter is cold and a marker of death, but it’s Autumn where everything starts to die. The trees lose their leaves, most flowers disappear until Spring and Summer…. It’s just.. depressing to look at.”
Zhou Mingrui stopped and looked at the empty desolate space in front of him, before looking up at the looming buildings shielding him from the moonlight.
“Winter marks the Yin aspect and wishes, but even Yin finds its Yang, in this case, it’s summer. And even in winter, people gather to unite and wait for a new beginning.”
He exhaled before continuing. Grisha tried to understand what he was being told, but was unable to comprehend if there was a deeper meaning behind Zhou Mingrui’s words.
“Autumn, I feel, is too different from Spring, which you can pair nicely with Summer, and Winter is just too different from Autumn to feel like anything.”
Grisha nodded. Perhaps you could consider Autumn the outlier in the four seasons. “But more animals die in Spring and Summer.” Zhou Mingrui smiled.
“Those are natural causes.” Was he vegan? That was going to make it difficult to find something for him to eat…
“I’m not vegan, but I feel it reflects the desperation some humans have to face during the latter seasons. It’s hard enough as it is to plant crops, but one bad weather day, and all that hard work will go to waste...”
“Are you speaking from experience?” They did not move inside. It was foreign to have a conversation like this in the middle of the night. “I have friends who’ve had to kill their farm animals. Those cost a lot.”
So it was about the money, huh. Grisha felt Zhou Mingrui was bitter on behalf of his friends. He felt himself sigh in relief, thankful that his temporary roommate wasn’t a vegan, he didn’t have a lot of vegetables right now.
“I myself am a researcher.” Zhou Mingrui looked at him with interest, but he seemed to think of something better than listening. “I think it’s best if we go inside.” Grisha, who was about to describe his work and what he made, faltered and led them up into his apartment.
His pride was a little hurt. Prestige wasn’t a problem, professions like his had lots of that. As they made their way up the stairs, it became clear that Zhou Mingrui was, indeed, not made for factory work.
The stairwell walls were painted a freakish green that Grisha disliked with a strong vigour. Zhou Mingrui struggled to keep up with him, but even though some might have laughed in his face, Grisha personally didn’t mind being slowed down and felt something else festering inside instead.
Dead houseplants sat by the long rectangular window shining silver moonlight into the stairwell.
He took out his key and unlocked the two doors. The door on the outside was essentially a metal sheet, it was designed for safety. The one on the inside was made of wood and so was the floor.
Grisha began removing his boots and placed his bag on the floor. Zhou Mingrui was busy observing the space to notice Grisha locking the door behind him.
Once the locks were in place, Zhou Mingrui was removing his shoes. “Do you have snakes in the USSR?” He asked absentmindedly. “Yes, but I doubt you’ll find them so far up.”
Zhou Mingrui seemed to be about to say something, but he closed his mouth after further observation. Grisha took the cloak handed to him, hanging it up on the rack. He set the shoes to the side.
He turned around and headed deeper inside the house. “Do you have restrictive eating habits?” He asked Zhou Mingrui who was carefully making his way around the place. “No, do you?” Grisha shook his head. “No.”
Potatoes, bread and cabbage. God, he really needed to use his tickets. “Any allergies?” Grisha took out two bottles of beer.
“None.” He nodded his head, what a relief.
It was amazing how trusting Zhou Mingrui was. He had had one conversation with him and already was he willing to trust him, with what was essentially his life.
You couldn’t help but wonder if he had only been sent with enough money to get here, or if he perhaps had used up all of that money for a plethora of activities.
Zhou Mingrui was currently kneeling on the floor with Grisha’s old Polaroid camera in his hands. He turned to look at him, but when his eyes came across the food he looked stunned.
The place was silent for a few moments, before his smile widened. “Do you have any ginger or anything of the sorts?”
“I have some pepper, but I doubt you can season anything I have.” Zhou Mingrui looked at the food again, his smile dimming slightly, it looked more like a person close to death finally going through the final stage of grief.
In Grisha’s eyes, this was a rather dramatic reaction. Food was food. It gave him a feeling that Zhou Mingrui was ungrateful for the shelter and the fact that he was being fed.
Maybe his pride was hurt, just a bit.
“How about this?” Grisha sighed, hoping this would work. “The next time I go out, you can come with me and you can get to cook what you want.” Are you going to stay? Was what he was trying to convey.
Zhou Mingrui beamed, but coughed shortly after. He looked down before looking up again soon after. “I would love that.” He said, smiling warmly. I’ll stay, is what his eyes seemed to say.
It was almost like stars were being flinged at his head with the brightness of such a wonderful smile. Grisha instantly felt his pride restored to completion.
With a smile like that, how could you not fall for it? Grisha could imagine Zhou Mingrui as a person who people would want to be around. Maybe he had a lover back home? It would be better than anything Grisha had ever had, and he couldn’t even be mad about it: This man was beautiful in every sense there could be.
For once in his life, Grisha was glad his bed was that big, since there was no way Zhou Mingrui was sleeping on the floor. He felt like he was going crazy just thinking about him.
Or maybe he was just sleep deprived. It could be both, it could be none.
He set up the table and Zhou Mingrui stopped fiddling with the camera to sit across from him. Grisha picked his fork and knife and dug in. Zhou Mingrui, meanwhile, stared at his meal in apprehension. “Is the potato raw?” He asked. “No, it’s just cold?” Grisha said with his voice muffled, chewing on bread.
“…how long has it been in there?”
“Not long…..?”
“…”
Zhou Mingrui ate the bread and cabbage leaves with no cutlery. Grisha paid it no mind and opened the beer bottles. “Is it truly proper to be drinking alcohol this late?” The Black-haired man said, looking at the crispy cold bottles.
“Beer isn’t an alcoholic beverage, Zhou Mingrui.” He looked absolutely stunned, his face had gone slack and he was just looking at Grisha like his entire world had been flipped upside down.
“It has alcohol in it.”
“It is a soft drink.”
“Grisha… anything with ethanol in it can be considered an alcoholic beverage.”
“What about hand sanitizer?”
Zhou Mingrui put his head on his hands. “Just hand it over.” He said, the smile was no longer present. It was replaced by tiredness.
Grisha handed it to him. “What are we thinking about sleeping arrangements?” Zhou Mingrui took a small sip, looked like he had eaten a whole lemon and set it on the table with a repulsed look.
“Do you have a mattress?” Grisha shook his head; he wasn’t planning on receiving visitors anytime soon.
“Guess I’m sleeping on the floor.” Zhou Mingrui muttered. No way.
“The floor is new, I got this place not so long ago and it’s a new building.”
“So…”
“You’ll wake up with splinters in your eyelids.”
“…”
“…”
“Huh..”
Zhou Mingrui tilted his head with a strange look on his face. His eyes were squinted and he looked intently into Grisha’s eyes, before inspecting the rest of his face closely.
Their noses were nearly touching with how close they were.
“I don’t have splinters in my eyelids, because I sleep on the bed.” Grisha said calmly, as if he was talking to a child.
“……..”
He sighed and shook his head. “Thanks for the food, Mr. Grisha.” Zhou Mingrui then said, bending his back a bit towards him in his seat.
“No problem; Please, just call me Grisha.”
“Anyway, I saw your camera and I have to say, it looks cool.” Zhou Mingrui smiled again; it was a near miracle how fast his expressions could change. He seemed to be a very colourful person.
Grisha gave a small happy smile in return. “Thank you sadly, I haven’t had time to take any pictures.” Zhou Mingrui’s smile turned teasing.
“How about we take some?” Now that was a wonderful idea.
Twenty minutes later and Grisha felt like a pampered pig with all these opportunities. He couldn’t even count how many times they had been in physical contact with each other trying to find the right poses.
It was a slight culture shock how seriously Zhou Mingrui took photos, even when they were doing it just for fun, but that could just be him. Was he the type of person to care a lot about his image?
When his hands slipped around Zhou Mingrui’s waist he felt like he too should start caring about his own and how his temporary roommate viewed him- not just because they were going to be roommates for the foreseeable future.
The camera flashed again and Grisha could only imagine how red his face was. They were sitting on the floor now. The younger man was almost in his lap.
Time was irrevelevant, but eventually even the untireable became tired.
Zhou Mingrui and Grisha huddled close together on the wooden floor, they looked at the large pile of photos. “I think we should save the remaining film..” he muttered, Grisha nodded in agreement. It was time for them to rest.
They definitely had to do this again!
“I’m also quite tired.”
“Yeah… sorry for dragging you into this, you must be tired from your research.”
Grisha nodded. “Indeed, I am extremely tired, nearing complete exhaustion.” He said without a care in the world, like a damn fool.
He looked very apologetic. It was practically morning by now, Grisha couldn’t imagine them doing anything tomorrow. Zhou Mingrui also looked tired, which meant he probably wouldn’t notice if he had ‘overslept’
A more fitting term would be underslept, but that would only be following his body’s demands, not the world’s standards.
If he was wiser, he would’ve played strong, not showing a sign of weakness; come off as the protector. Looking back, it would’ve made it easier probably, but with them both being guys, it would probably be very hard to finally settle in specific dynamics.
But instead, he was making him feel bad.
One could only imagine all the mental wrestling that took. Did the women have to do so much juggling as the men regarding partnership roles?
They washed the dishes with soap and dried them. The dishes themselves weren't messy, but perhaps they were, and in the end, the dishes were spotless and faintly shined in the moonlight. Maybe their bond, in due time, could shine like that?
Grisha felt strangely connected to this immigrant, despite only having known him for a few hours, was this what connections closely tied to fate were like? Meeting Zhou Mingrui was a freeing moment, but perhaps it was also something he was unable to change.
If they were truly fated to meet, then even they couldn't escape the inevitable. It revealed powerlessness in front of the being they all called God: they were unable to escape any of his arrangements, even the meeting between two strangers was staged if the Lord truly did exist.
Was everything they ever experience all an elaborate play in some people’s eyes?
The bottom of the inescapable pit, and the cream of the crop. Both very different, but in the eyes of the Greatest, weren’t they all the same?
But, that begged the question. Who was the greatest?
Grisha started putting everything away.
“Do you believe in God, Zhou Mingrui?” He asked. Zhou Mingrui’s eyes showed his confusion, the window to his soul so clearly mirrored and reflected for his view.
“The Christian one?” He replied with another question, trying to get him to elaborate.
“Any God.”
“Some religions have multiple Gods, but do I believe in them?” He shrugged, his expression peaceful. “Sometimes.”
Grisha’s brows furrowed. “Sometimes?” Zhou Mingrui chuckled softly and smiled, his eyes drifting to the cross hanging around Grisha’s neck.
He refused to elaborate.
The floors creaked with their weight and tension, as they hesitantly moved towards the bedroom. It was large enough for two, it seemed it would get to be used to its full potential tonight.
Two adults sleeping in the same bed, when was the wedding? Such a thing was destined to be unknown for at least thirty years.
“Zhou Mingrui.” Grisha held a spare set of nighttime clothing in his arms. Zhou Mingrui received them with a bow of his head. “Thank you.” He then said.
“Is there a place I can change?” He asked.
“…”
Grisha pondered: what would happen if he said no? “I’ll just turn around.” He said, and turned his body to close the blinds.
The shuffling of clothes could be heard behind him, his heart raced as if he was running a marathon; his ears were able to pick up the loud sounds of his heart with ease, and he could imagine those aurals burning a freakish red.
Zhou Mingrui’s body was probably shaded a soft red due to what would most likely be an upcoming fever due to the poor temperature.
Maybe, in the morning, he would wake up feverish and would want to stay with Grisha for a couple more days?
The floors creak, the grandfather clock he inherited chimed with its loud tunes, the cross of bleak iron mounted on the wall is a reminder. A bed for two, and a lonely man with a dream.
A foreigner, who doesn’t know what he’s getting into by meeting with a Chernobyl researcher; oh, the disasters waiting to unfold and swallow them whole. Water would swallow them whole and they would be reborn anew. They would sink, but then they would float.
They would emerge victorious or maybe they would be swallowed by the wicked tides, in their pursuit of peace?
The clock strikes fifteen minutes over midnight, time struggles to move. Why must it be so slow?
“You can turn around now.” Zhou Mingrui said. He stretched and grunted a little as his upper body moved side to side.
Grisha also changed into nightwear, Zhou Mingrui turned around and blew hot air on his digits. The mattress creaked as both of them lay down in silence.
Neither spoke.
“Zhou Mingrui.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever laid down with someone?”
“What, in the sheets?”
“Yes.” Grisha affirmed, staring up at the ceiling with a blank facial expression. Zhou Mingrui laughed softly.
“Yeah, it was a wonderful afternoon.” His laughter echoed in Grisha's head like a siren’s song. “Why do you ask?” Zhou Mingrui inquired.
“I’m a curious man.”
“Oh, really?” He teased. “Well, for your information, it was a very pleasant experience.” Grisha nodded seriously: “So they say.”
“‘They say’?”
“I haven’t done it myself.”
“Well. I’ve only done it once, so we're nearly on equal footing regarding this matter.”
“Who were you with?”
“Is that important?”
“…no.”
“Sleep well then, Grisha.”
That was certainly an embarrassing way to end that conversation. His cheeks glowed a fierce red long into the night
.
.
.