Page 38 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

I just held him.Let the music in my head rise and fall like a lullaby.

And prayed, silently, that I would get to do this again.That the night wouldn’t end with this being a onetime miracle.

That somehow, despite everything, we could find our way to more.

ChapterEleven

Dimitri

Iwoke up in a bed that wasn’t mine.

For a split second, panic gripped me—tight and sudden, like the jaws of a trap snapping shut.The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, lit gold by the first hints of morning.My legs were tangled in sheets I didn’t recognize.My chest tightened.Had I been found out?Arrested?Killed and sent to some strange version of heaven with peeling wallpaper?

And then—

Arms.Warm, solid arms, wrapping tighter around my waist.A breath against the back of my neck—hot and slow.Petyr.

I smiled.

The relief came all at once, like the thaw after a bitter frost.I was safe.I was with him.

And for the first time in my entire life, I didn’t feel alone in my body.I felt… right.

I shut my eyes, not because I wanted to sleep, but because I wanted to remember this.How it felt to be held.How it felt to belong in a space where someone wanted me close—not out of duty or obligation, but want.

Then—soft lips against my neck.Barely a kiss, more like a promise.

He shifted behind me, rolled over quietly, and when I opened my eyes, he was facing me, finger pressed to his lips.

Shhh.

We sat up together, like conspirators in a fairy tale, moving in perfect silence.The sheets whispered as we slid out from under them, the floor cool beneath our feet.We pulled on our clothes piece by piece—shirts rumpled from sleep, pants that still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and damp Leningrad air.

I couldn’t stop watching him.Every movement of his arms, every little stretch as he bent to pull his pants on… I wanted to reach out.Just one more minute.One more kiss.One more impossible morning.

But we couldn’t.

He’d said we had to be up early—and we were.The sky outside was turning from indigo to peach.I hadn’t slept for more than a few hours, but I didn’t feel tired.I felt alive in a way I never had before.Like my skin was new.Like I had cracked open in the night and something brighter had poured in.

Was this what they called love?

It was nothing like the stories, if I’m honest.My parents never spoke of love.They spoke of duty.Of patience.Of practical things—how many kilos of cabbage they needed, how many rubles for heating, how many days left until spring.

My mother loved me.I know she did.But it was a quiet love.Dutiful.Efficient.

What I felt now was nothing like that.It was messy and wild and sharp around the edges.It was a kind of freedom I hadn’t known I needed.

And it scared the hell out of me.

I glanced at Petyr as he yawned and stretched, the waistband of his trousers slipping just low enough to make my thoughts dangerous again.I wanted to pull him back down into that bed, wrap myself around him, and let the world disappear.

But I didn’t.

Instead, we crept out of the bedroom like thieves.The hallway was dim, a faint squeak coming from a radiator.I moved carefully, careful not to let my footsteps echo on the wood floors.

At the front door, we crouched to pull on our shoes.My laces were tangled, and I fumbled them twice before giving up and tucking them inside the sides of my boots.Petyr didn’t speak.Neither did I.

There were too many thoughts in my head.

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