Chapter Text
Berlin. 1907
"I'm sorry, sir, but today's couples only. Special occasion organized by the patrons," said the doorman with a sympathetic nod.
"I understand," he replied with an unreadable expression, ready to turn away when, suddenly,
"Here you are, love! I'm sorry I'm so late, you know, the streets these days are so chaotic," a confident, high-pitched voice emerged as a delicate hand slipped around his folded arm. He turned downwards, to find a pint-sized miss smiling at him from under her mop of black curly hair and a pinned men's boater hat filled with flowers. "What are you waiting for, love?" she asked with the sweetest voice, looking at him unblinking. "Is everything quite alright, sir?" she turned to the doorman, who, apologizing awkwardly, let them through. She walked so confidently, holding him, even making him doubt his own life. Maybe they had indeed been together for years, and he didn't know?
Taking a better look, he realized that her plain, worn white dress was nothing more than undergarments, waiting for a proper dress to be pulled over it. Her delicate sandals and cleavage were visible, adorned with layered necklaces, baring her thin arms. Then, he took a glance around them. All the combed, boot-wearing women, squeezed into puffy dresses, were looking at her, frowning, and for a reason unknown to him, he hated their eyes.
"What's your name, dear?" she asked, taking the seat next to him in the opera hall, still not letting go of his arm.
"Jäger," he replied, trying to sound as warm as possible. His brows raised when she let out the most luminous laugh, not bothering to raise her palm to her mouth.
"No, silly! Not your family's name, yours, the one you use when you look in the mirror," she explained as if to a child, making him feel small, as though he had made a grave mistake.
"Theodore," he corrected himself, half-heartedly.
"Theo? Such a beautiful name!" she beamed, taking his hand in both her soft palms, barely covering it, looking at him wide-eyed, almost all in his seat, making him forget he could breathe. "Mine's Erika," she replied just as joyously, retreating to her place when the lights dimmed and the curtains were slowly opened, still cradling his large palm.
During the performance, he looked more at her than at the stage. He smiled when she laughed heartily, he frowned when she teared up, shivering. When he found himself outside the opera, the nightly sky above their heads, facing her, unsure what to do with his hands, she took hold of one, starting to pull him along.
"C'mon, we absolutely need to savor this beautiful evening! I know you're free tomorrow—it's Sunday," Erika pleaded. Theo blinked, watching a woman half his size effortlessly drag him. She took off running, laughing when he tripped behind her, slowing down in front of an ice cream vendor. After she asked for two cones, he pulled out his wallet, but it was gently pushed away by her careful, cold fingers. "No, silly! I'm not taking you out and making you pay. Besides, you paid for my ticket already," she smiled, pulling out several crumpled bills from her chest with a practiced hand, smoothing them a little before exchanging them for the sweets. Theodore didn't protest, didn't say a word. How could he even? Instead, he accepted her dessert and hand, continuing to let himself be tagged along.
When Erika kicked off her sandals, gathering them in one arm before stepping into the shallow, shimmering water of the lake, Theodore didn't know whether to laugh or be mortified. Still, he didn't let go of her hand, walking next to her on the dry shore, only blinking silently when she splashed water onto his tailored pants, laughing at his expression. Theodore didn't even feel the night fade, but when he looked up, the stars were gone. He was standing in front of an old, crumbling block of flats, pants and shoes wet, shirt crumpled, his suit jacket now worn by not so much of a stranger anymore. She smiled as he opened and closed his mouth, never taught how to behave in such scenarios.
"This is the part where you ask me if I want to go out with you again," Erika whispered, as if he'd forgotten his lines.
"Do you, truly?" Theodore asked, not knowing why he was so hopeful.
"Yes!" she burst, smiling, before running inside, exclaiming, "See you tomorrow!" And gone she was, with his jacket too.
The next day, Theodore stood in front of the same building, a small bouquet in his hand as he knocked.
"Come in, it's open," Erika's voice drifted from inside. He opened the door, reluctantly stepping into the crammed, chaotic room where several girls were reading, drinking coffee, or smoking, all turning to look at him wide-eyed. All but one, who stood in the middle of it all, still in undershirt and loose shorts, struggling to make sense of her hair. "I need to get my hair done first," she mumbled absentmindedly, almost touching the mirror with her nose as she added the last pins. "These are for me? That's so sweet," Erika exclaimed, taking the bouquet from Theodore's trembling hands before he could say anything. "There's your jacket, on the hanger," she pointed out, then sat back at the table, fixing some of the gifted flowers on her hat and discarding the old ones.
Theodore slipped into his ironed, clean coat, which smelled faintly of cheap women's perfume.
"Would you help me?" Erika asked, bouncing next to him, trying to zip her underdress to no avail. He reached out, painfully slow and unsure of himself, his hands trembling, but he got the job done eventually. "You poor thing, you're shivering," she fretted, wrapping her arms around his waist. "It'll be alright, good?" Erika assured him, looking upwards with big, green eyes full of sympathy before grasping his hand. "C'mon, I'll take you somewhere nice! It'll make you feel better," she promised, dragging him out of the apartment.
They stopped on a hill above the central train station, and Erika wasted no time plopping onto her back, smiling as she patted the nearest grass. He didn't want to dirty his suit. But he couldn't refuse that charming smile either. So Theodore sat next to her.
"I like coming here on Sundays, when the platforms are full, and watch people bumble," she explained wistfully, scanning the crowd for an amusement target.
"Is there any reason for this… curious little pastime?" he asked, taking hold of her hand.
"Should there be any reason for it, other than being fun?" Erika replied, her eyes looking into his, searching for understanding before beaming, "Look! That dog escaped!" she laughed, pointing at the platform, where a small white fluff was running circles around a couple of men struggling to catch it. Unexpectedly, several deep, rhythmic laughs rolled out of Theodore's chest as he threw his head back. Hearing it, Erika smiled wider, moving closer, and to her delight, they spent the afternoon there, pointing and laughing together at people chasing trains, dropping luggage, or flying hats.
Weeks turned into months, each morning walking together to the girls' school before Theodore rushed to his own classes. In the afternoon, she'd draw birds and frogs next to him as he studied. Their evenings were reserved for city exploration, Erika showing him the best vendors, the liveliest street performers, and the wildest, unmapped areas of the central park. He always found himself laughing, smiling, following as if entranced, constantly reaching out for her always cold but welcoming palms, looking forward to her impulsive whims.
"What's that?" Erika asked, a slight smirk on her face as she eyed the small box in his hand.
"The entirety of spring has passed, so I deemed it appropriate to..." Theodore didn't finish, just handed her the neat bundle, which was open in a heartbeat, revealing a delicate necklace with a gem the shade of her eyes.
"You besotted goof," she mumbled, jumping at his neck, feet swinging in the air as she pecked his jaw. "Wait here," Erika said, letting go to rush inside. She was back in mere seconds, a thin package wrapped awkwardly with a neat ribbon in her hands, her new necklace already displayed proudly at her chest. Theodore opened it slowly, grinning at her wide eyes filled with expectation. When a flawless portrait of him was bared in his hands, framed, his jaw dropped. "Look on the back too!" Erika instructed, turning the frame for him. There he read: "Pencil study of the ideal gentleman" next to her name and a perfect grade written in red ink.
"It is exquisite," he mumbled, caressing her cheek.
"Well, I got a perfect grade for a reason," she grinned, covering his fingers with her own. Her gaze locked on his, unable to stray.
Meanwhile in Saint Petersburg
"They don't have any more places in the student's dorm," he told his brother, placing his new books and schedule on the stairs beside them.
"So what do we do now?" his brother muttered, eyes on the verge of tears.
"Alyosha, you precious soul," he murmured with the sweetest smile. "Don't work yourself up over it!" he chuckled, ruffling Aleksei's disheveled hair. "If we survived at home, we'll get through it here too," he whispered as he cupped Aleksei's neck, drawing him closer. "Nothing is going to stop us as long as we're together, right?" he asked, their foreheads almost touching, grinning as Aleksei nodded rapidly.
"So, where do we go then?" Aleksei asked, taking the books as his brother handled their meager belongings.
"Look for a place to stay," he said with a charming smile as he intertwined his fingers with Aleksei's, leading him through the bustling streets.
They searched. House after house, after too expensive room, after unavailable place. He rubbed his forehead, unsure, not wanting to tell Aleksei they'd have to sleep on the streets. No, they wouldn't. He'd make it work. Somehow.
"Good evening, sir," he greeted the man at the bar's counter.
"Evening, son," the bartender replied, bemused. It brushed away some of his worries.
"By any chance, sir, do you have any rooms?" he muttered, trying to mimic the man's smile.
"This is a bar, you know?" the bartender chuckled with a grin.
"I know, sir, but—" He didn't even manage to finish his sentence as the bartender interjected, eyes softening,
"You're a student, aren't you?" He nodded reluctantly, as if ashamed. "What's your name, boy?" the bartender added.
"Mikhail Ivushkin," he answered in a heartbeat.
"We've got a room," Mikhail told his brother, who was shivering outside among their belongings. Aleksei's face lit up instantly, a faint smile forming at the corners of his lips. "But you'll have to help at the bar while I'm in classes. Our money isn't enough," Mikhail added, searching worriedly for a reaction.
"Yeah, sure. Anything!" Aleksei blurted out, jumping at his brother's chest.
The bartender led them into the loft, climbing a wooden ladder.
"There's the bathroom," the man pointed to the door in the middle, "That's my room," he said, pointing to the right, "and that's yours," he finished, unlocking the left door. "You'll have to prove yourself worthy of a key," the bartender chuckled, patting Mikhail on the shoulder. "I'm expecting you at the counter first hour in the morning," he told Aleksei, laughing quietly at his serious,
"Yes, sir!"
The room was small, dusty, and completely empty. Yet, it was a room, so neither would complain. They lay out several clothes they had, forming a makeshift mattress, resting their heads on their worn backpack.
"I'm cold," Aleksei whispered, his dark-circled eyes hopeful. Mikhail chuckled, wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his brother's back, and kissing his forehead.
"This is Petersburg," Mikhail exhaled, on the verge of sleep, continuing to warm his brother. "We did it, didn't we?" he whispered, smiling as Aleksei nodded slowly against his chest, yawning.
"Good night, Misha," Aleksei mumbled, snuggling as close as possible. In response, Mikhail ran his fingers through his brother's hair, kissed his forehead again, before allowing his exhausted eyes to close.
Petrograd (Petersburg). 1914
Mikhail ran to the bar, clutching the sheet in hand, urging his trembling fingers not to rumple it. When he entered, Aleksei was humming as he mopped, stopping instantly to look up at his breathless brother. Without a second thought, he let the mop fall, rushing to Mikhail, cupping both his red cheeks as Mikhail leaned against the doorframe.
"What's wrong?" he asked, eyes shimmering with worry, scanning his brother's struggling smile. Mikhail sat on the nearest chair, handing Aleksei an intricate paper where he read aloud: "His Imperial Majesty the Sovereign Emperor, upon presentation by the General Assembly of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, has deigned to approve Mikhail Dmitrievich Ivushkin in the position of Junior Research Fellow in the Physics Department..." Aleksei didn't finish, hugging Mikhail and spinning him effortlessly. "You did it!" he repeated over and over again, struggling to keep his laughter back as he looked at his brother's face between his calloused palms.
"We did it," Mikhail whispered, cupping Aleksei's warm cheeks too.
"Congratulations, boy!" the bar owner said with a smile, the two letting go of each other in a heartbeat.
"Thank you, sir," Mikhail blurted out, red, fixing his shirt. With a murmured excuse, they retreated to their safe space in the loft, unlocking the door to the now furnished room. Mikhail tossed himself onto the crammed bed, grinning as Aleksei slowly settled atop him. "Just imagine," he whispered, a soft, playful rumble, playing with Aleksei's rebellious hair. "Me working at the Academy, finally getting some real money, us moving into the suburbs, you not having to work a day in your life," Mikhail envisioned aloud, closing his eyes with Aleksei's strands between his soft fingers.
"But I like it here," Aleksei confessed, shifting on his elbows. "I like working."
"Then we'll stay," Mikhail declared, rubbing their noses gently as Aleksei sighed with a smile.
After a sudden knock on the door, the bartender's voice echoed up,
"Alyosha, you need to come down." A deafening silence followed before he added, "Some soldiers are here to pick you up." Mikhail's blood ran cold, frozen solid, as Aleksei started to shiver.
"What?" Mikhail choked out, watching Aleksei breathe faster and faster, curling into a ball. "It—it can't be right..." Mikhail murmured, gently removing his brother's hands to look at his snow-pale face. "Stay here, alright? It'll be fine! You hear me? Everything will be fine," he repeated, Aleksei nodding through silent tears. On the first floor, two soldiers waited, just as pale and young as Aleksei was. They handed Mikhail an undeniable conscription notice for his twenty-two-year-old brother, who had no higher education. Mikhail crumpled the paper in his fist, throwing it to the ground before returning to the loft. The soldiers made no effort to stop him.
Aleksei stood by the window, his cheeks shimmering in the light, fingers digging into the sill, utterly silent.
"You could run away," Mikhail said, voice hurried as he grabbed their old backpack, stuffing it with random clothes. "I—I could pretend I'm you, or—"
"No." Aleksei's voice was firm, interrupting him. "You're not going to throw away all those years of studying out the window!" He wiped his face dry, then took a deep breath before wrapping his arms tightly around Mikhail. "We'll get through this too," he pleaded, a smile on the verge of crumpling.
"You can't go," Mikhail stuttered, his eyes reddening.
"It'll be alright," Aleksei reassured him, kissing his forehead before taking the disheveled backpack. And with it, he was gone before Mikhail could say another word.
To be continued