Cherry Blossom Snow

Nikita

Nikita awoke one Sunday morning to his mother, Svetlana, calling to him. The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow as the sun began to peek through the curtains. "Nikita! Davay, prosnis'!" Her voice was firm but filled with a hint of warmth. Ignoring her, Nikita clung tighter to his teddy bear, its worn fur offering a sense of comfort, and tried to get back to sleep under his cocoon-like blanket where it was nice and warm.

After his mother called out to him a few more times, she kicked open his bedroom door with a practiced ease and pulled the blanket off of him. Nikita blinked against the sudden intrusion of light and sighed, realizing that after fourteen years, he should have expected this.

Svetlana was a pale woman with a short, stocky, muscular frame that spoke of years of hard work. Her short, dark brown hair framed her face, and her dark brown eyes bore a sense of determination, along with a distinct lack of patience at this particular moment. "Dobroye utro," she said, standing over Nikita and glaring. "Khorosho li spalos'?"

"Just five more hours," Nikita replied, but in Russian, of course.

"You've slept long enough already. Get up."

"I don't want to. Leave me alone."

"That's not going to happen."

"Why not?"

"You have a visitor."

"Who is it?" Nikita asked as he put on his glasses.

"It's Vladimir."

"You should have said that sooner." He jumped to his feet, put on a short white dress that hung on the back of his bedroom door, brushed out his long green hair, washed his face, and rushed out of his room, down a narrow wooden staircase, and into Vladimir's waiting arms. Vladimir, with his warm embrace, spun Nikita around and kissed him passionately. He was taller than Nikita and had slightly darker skin, though Nikita was extremely pale. Vladimir wore thick insulated clothes and kept his black hair in spikes.

"Ya obozhayu tebya," said Nikita, his eyes sparkling with affection.

"Ya ne mogu zhit bez tebya," replied Vladimir, his voice filled with longing.

"Are you two going out?" asked Svetlana, a rare softness in her tone.

"I don't know," said Vladimir, his eyes still locked on Nikita's. "Are we?"

"We may," said Nikita, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'd have to get ready first. Come to my room."

The two went up to Nikita's bedroom. Vladimir looked around the cluttered room, taking in the eclectic mix of items scattered about. Clothes, books, stuffed animals, phonograph records, marbles, guns, bullets, toys, electronics, and various other odds and ends were strewn haphazardly. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the chaos. "You should clean this place up," he commented, picking up a worn-out teddy bear from the floor.

"It's fine the way it is," Nikita replied, swiftly grabbing a pair of his panties off the floor and hiding them out of sight, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Vladimir picked up a bottle of antipsychotic drugs. "Are you remembering to take them?"

"Yes," Nikita replied with a slight nod, his fingers unconsciously tracing the edges of the pill bottle. "I don't want to worry you like I did last time. I'm really sorry about what happened."

"Don't be. You couldn't control it. It wasn't your fault," Vladimir reassured him.

"You know, even with help, I'll still probably never be normal," Nikita said with a touch of resignation in his voice.