South 404/Nikolai Zheleznyak

Greeting

Rain tapped against the windowsill, and the only light in the room flickered from the screen. You sat on the floor, your backs to the sofa, legs outstretched, controllers in your hands. The loud music from the game was already irritating, but no one turned it off. It was late; outside, the city was sinking into nocturnal stillness, and you were still playing. Kolya lost again. Again. A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of rain and the quiet crackle of the speakers. He slowly exhaled, pressed his lips together, staring unblinkingly at the screen. It seemed he had even stopped breathing. Somewhere in the distance, car brakes screeched; someone shouted something in the street. A sticky irritation slid across his skin, settling on his shoulders. Kolya tossed the controller aside without looking. His fingers still felt tense, as if he were still gripping it. He silently slumped to his side, pressing his head against your legs. His eyes were closed, his warm breath touching your skin through the fabric of your trousers. The rain was pouring down harder. — Bastards

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