Nikolai

Love - Part One

"I got it!" Nikolai yelled over to the smaller—and significantly younger—male, who was around ten feet away with half of his arm deep in a family-sized bag of chips.

"Lemme see!" he called back.

Nikolai's arms shook, but he was able to lift up a small dog, who looked to be some type of husky and Labrador mutt, with folded ears and a heavy black coat and bright yellow eyes. It was small, yet seemed to be full-grown by the white wisps of fur growing under its nose. It looked to be the runt of the litter.

He heard sloppy steps trample through the feet of snow he was in, and eventually saw the face of his brother, Alexander.

Alexander was small, small all over, and built with cheeks dusted with freckles that were a shade or two darker than his skin. His most attractive feature was his light, striking eyes. Under the gaze of his powder-blue irises, Nikolai felt safe. His eyes were almost always squinted in a smile and were over a pair of the chubby apples of his rosy cheeks. Alexander's hair was straight, as if each individual strand was drawn by a ruler. Nikolai adored the color and texture of his younger brother's hair, but it was always pulled back in a black baseball cap. As with many boys his age, his expression reflected the messy parts of his everyday life. It was also unbalanced, which kept the recipient of his gaze on their toes. You could always tell what he was thinking, because he always told you, and his eyes never lied.

"Can we keep 'em this time?" The younger male pleaded, looking at the crumbs that clung to the folds of his hands, remembering how much of a stickler his mother was about cleanliness, then wiping the excess food on the outer layer of his coat.

"No, not this time," Nikolai said, apologetic in tone but with a soft smile on his face. "I'll get you something from the gas station on our way home with the money we got today, kay? You can pick whateeeever ya' want." Nikolai sat up and set the dog down by his side, but continued to keep his palms around its waist so it wouldn't run off again. Alexander considered the deal, scrunching his nose in thought. "Okay, deal! Can we get Korovka?"

"I said whatever you want, right? Let's get big handfuls of it. I know where they sell it for two dollars a pound."

Much like a wolf, the snow bits at the two boys' fingers with its sharp, icy teeth as they stumbled through the white walls of snow. Alexander's movement was limited by the thick layers of fabric their mother managed to wrangle him in. The eight-year-old waddled alongside his older brother like a penguin. Nikolai offered to hold one of the coats he was wearing, but Alexander shook his head, refusing to disobey their mother.

Nikolai tied up the stolen pup to a shabby newspaper rack nearby, tucking the identification tag under the dog's rolls of fat and fur. He and Alexander entered the convenience store, which was about as dilapidated as the rack. The fluorescent lights above flickered, on average, three times a minute. On hotter days, even more so. It was always like that, and Nikolai figured the place was just barely making it over and couldn't afford to fix the light. In fact, it was probably the least of the owner's problems. His wife usually came in with a bunch of kids—which Nikolai presumed were all his—and bickered about whatever came to her mind, even changing the subject in between sentences and wrapping it all up with a hiss behind gritted teeth.

The brothers immediately moved to the back of the store, where an abundance of candies were placed in small plastic bins in order of color, flavor, and source. Next to the candy, was a wheel of thin grocery bags and a scale that teetered back and forth. Alexander dug his hands into a bin and laced his fingers around the orange wrappers. Nikolai yanked onto the wheel and grabbed a green grocery bag, allowing the younger brother to dump as much candy as his tiny palms could grab onto, and then some. He waited for the bag to be halfway full, then tied it up with a paper twist and brought it up to the counter. The candy totaled out to be around four dollars plus tax.

Nikolai felt a sudden tug against the fabric of his sleeve that made him lose his balance for a moment. Naturally, his eyes drifted down towards his brother and then what his brother's index finger directed to. His arm was flat and straight, like a ruler. He was pointing at a small corner with three magazine racks placed facing a wall of one-dollar sodas. "Why don't we ever go over there, Niko?" he asked, an innocent expression crossing delicate features. Nikolai took the ends of his fingers and quickly moved the young boy's head forcibly, not enough to hurt him, just to startle him. He didn't answer. He had been working in the porn industry for about a month now. He lived on his own as a fourteen-year-old disguised as a legal adult, typically using his mouth to pay for his rent. He had plenty of odd jobs to keep him stable at home. Selling drugs, betting and/or winning at fights, and stealing dogs to wait for a reward to come up. Sex work paid generously, though it wasn't ideal. It was his own little secret, and he was certain to keep it that way. At the ripe age of fourteen, there were consequences behind every action he took, but the only people he favored were his mother and Alexander.

Alexander reached for Nikolai's fingers and held on tightly, lugging around the bag of candy along with him. He didn't object to the idea, and hugged his palm around his younger brother's tiny balled fists. The two made their way out of the store, then Nikolai untied the dog and lead Alexander back home. The clouds streaked across the sky like the singular stroke of a paintbrush. A mesh of yellow, pink, and blue lined the exteriors of the buildings as the sun curled under the horizon. Alexander dug in the bag and unwrapped the orange paper, popping the rectangular candy in his mouth. It was often described as a 'childhood favorite' by the elderly women who inhabited the residence next door. Nikolai's tongue curled just at the smell, then stopped to pick one out of the bag and mirror his brother's actions. Reminiscent of crystallized dulce de leche, somehow sticky, crumbly, and melty all at the same time, with just the right amount of sweetness. There were two other flavors from what he remembered; cranberry and vanilla. Chocolate was his favorite.

Nikolai and Alexander made it home just in time for the sun to completely set. Nikolai gave Alexander the courtesy of knocking, and the door was opened immediately by their mother. She was slim in the face, nose, and lips. Her eyes were almond-shaped and copper in color. All of her facial features were framed by freckles, and some continued to disperse towards her ears and trickled down her neck. Her creamy, blond hair was parted down the middle and pushed back behind her ears. She was short but was built with long, smooth legs that were always shown by the short aprons labeled in cursive with her name: Aida.

She bent over to kiss Alexander on both of his cheeks, then raised back up to do the same to her older son. She then patted the dog on the head, who squinted its eyes as if to thank her. Aida turned over towards her husband, who was slouched over on the living room couch. "Sweetheart, Nikolai and Alexander are home. Weren't you worried about them like I was?"

The male twisted his torso, he smirked lopsidedly, and angled his brows at Nikolai, who made the expression right back. "Yeah, 'course I was." He turned back around.

Aida frowned, crossing her arms, yet quickly uncrossed them as it were an offense to her husband. "Vyacheslav, when are you going to take me and the boys to Paris? You promised we would when we got married."

"Hm?" he raised a brow and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Paris is dirty. You don't wanna go there. Why not out to dinner or something? I swear, you're so complicated."

She sighed. "It's cleaner than here! I don't like not being able to go out of the house."

Vyacheslav didn't look back, but his tone grew firmer and harsher. He danced the top of the bottle around his fingers, rolling its few remaining contents around at the bottom of bottle. "You three can move to Paris for all I fuckin' care, just wait for little Nikolai to collect all his big-boy money and all of you can get out of my hair." He worked with profanity the way artists worked with oil or clay, and no one bothered to shield Alexander's ears anymore.

Nikolai inhaled deeply, holding the air in his chest like a frog. His younger brother shook his head. Nikolai exhaled without a word, and exchanged quick pecks on the cheek with his mother and brother. "Be safe," he muttered. Aida and Alexander allowed Nikolai to leave with the dog, both of them squeezing his right hand as a goodbye.