Chapter 3
Ethan is asleep in seconds, soft snores filling the air between them.
For a while, Dmitri simply watches him, reveling in the feel of Ethan beneath his hands.
Then, a thought enters his mind.
They could have this
, he realizes, slightly hysterically,
they could have this every night
The season is over.
There's the PHL Awards coming up and he's sure both of them have a few sponsorship deals, but apart from that they could have this.
All summer.
Dmitri expects his heartbeat to pick up, except it doesn't.
In fact, for the first time since he watched that video, Dmitri feels his heart begin to settle.
He doesn't know who posted it.
Doesn't know who that woman was.
Doesn't know how Ethan is going to react in the morning, but for now, Ethan is here.
In his arms.
For a few more hours, until Prescott wakes up and panics, Ethan is Dmitri's to hold.
So, Dmitri stays awake.
He watches the way Ethan's face is slightly squished against Dmitri's chest.
He counts his freckles.
He listens to his breathing.
He catalogues the way his hair tingles his chin.
He feels his heartbeat beneath his fingers and listens to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
All night, Dmitri doesn't move.
Not an inch.
He blinks only when it's absolutely necessary.
Because if this is the only night that Dmitri ever gets, he wants to remember every single detail.
#FoundDemi
To Dmitri's great disappointment, he does eventually fall asleep, although according to the alarm clock on Ethan's bedside table, it's for little more than an hour.
Upon waking, it takes Dmitri a few moments to reorient himself, reminding himself of why that one hour might qualify as the best sleep he's ever had.
Then, he looks down at the bundle draped across his chest and is reminded of Ethan.
Beautiful, talented, brilliant Ethan who is also very, very awake.
He has turned around at some point, chin now resting on Dmitri's chest and looking at Dmitri with big, brown eyes, a look of utter confusion painted across his every feature.
"Hi," Dmitri says because he has literally no idea what else to say.
Ethan doesn't respond.
"Am I dreaming?" he asks, and Dmitri is left to wonder if he's asking because this is a recurring dream of his.
Lord knows, Dmitri's had the same dream more times than he's willing to count.
"No." Dmitri swallows.
"No, it's real."
"So that's why my head hurts?"
Partly because Dmitri is tired, and partly because he cannot help himself, he reaches out a finger to trail across Ethan's brow, smoothing the skin as he goes.
"You were a bit drunk last night," he tells him.
"I see."
The look on Ethan's face indicates that he doesn't see a whole lot, and Dmitri tightens his arms around him, trying to steady him as best he can.
"Did we have sex last night?" Ethan asks.
Dmitri can't help the snort that escapes him.
"No, mia serdce, we did not have sex last night."
Ethan seems a bit disappointed by this, which Dmitri does his best to ignore.
"When I say you were a bit drunk, I mean that you were very drunk."
Ethan scrunches his nose, obviously still confused by Dmitri's presence.
"Did we kiss?"
"We did kiss," Dmitri confirms, "Once.
You kissed me."
"You didn't want to kiss me?"
"I did," Dmitri says, watching Ethan's face carefully, "But as I said you were drunk.
I did not want to take advantage of you."
For a long while, Ethan simply stares at him.
"You're in my bed," he eventually says.
"I tried to leave," Dmitri says, "You wouldn't let me."
A blush crawls across Ethan's face and again, Dmitri is helpless to run his fingers across his cheeks, to trail his freckles as they change color.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I'm glad," Ethan blurts out, freckles turning impossibly darker, "I'm glad you're here.
Although I don't know
you're here."
It's Dmitri's turn to swallow, warmth blooming in his chest.
"You won the Trophy," Dmitri says simply, "I came to celebrate with you."
Again, Ethan doesn't say anything, and Dmitri doesn't exactly blame him.
They've already talked longer than they usually do, and they're in uncharted territory here.
"Are you going to leave?" Ethan asks suddenly, and immediately cold starts spreading through Dmitri's body, effectively extinguishing the previous warmth.
Does Ethan want him to leave?
Should Dmitri not have come?
Should Dmitri have insisted on sleeping on the couch?
Has Dmitri just made a terrible mistake?
"Sure," Dmitri says somehow, "Yes, I need to leave."
Dmitri does not need to do anything so he's not sure why he's agreeing with Ethan, but already Ethan is moving, sitting up and leaving Dmitri's arms painfully empty.
How am I supposed to sleep again
, Dmitri wonders,
knowing what it's like to have Ethan in my arms?
Ethan is avoiding his gaze now, and Dmitri feels suddenly nauseous.
He rises from the bed and looks around for his jacket, hoping it's hidden somewhere so that he will have an excuse to stay just a little bit longer.
But unfortunately, his jacket is right there, hanging across the chair next to Ethan's.
Dmitri takes the jacket, and then he's turning towards the door.
Should he say goodbye?
Should he
kiss him
goodbye?
Should he leave?
Should he apologize?
Should he beg to stay?
Dmitri's hand tightens around the doorknob.
And then, because Ethan is a stronger man than Dmitri will ever be, he says the magic words.
Those that have been at the forefront of every meet-up, every hook-up, every glance and every stolen moment, haunting the narrative like a ghost in the night.
"Please don't go."
Never
, Dmitri wants to say,
I'll never leave again, not if you'll have me
But Dmitri isn't quite that brave.
He does, however, turn around and that small gesture, it seems, is enough to undo him.
Because Ethan is sitting on the bed with a pillow clutched to his chest and tears in his eyes.
Big, brown orbs that Dmitri is helpless to resist.
Thank God
, he thinks, that Ethan doesn't use those weapons on the ice because Dmitri would never win a match-up again.
"You promised me," Ethan says, voice small and a pout on his face, "You promised last night you'd stay.
Didn't you?"
And of all the things to remember, Ethan has chosen
Dmitri isn't sure what to do with that, but he can't deny it.
In fact, he's quite helpless to deny it with Ethan looking at him like that.
"I did," Dmitri says, voice quiet in the early morning light.
"Then why –" Ethan pauses, "Why won't you?"
"I will," Dmitri says before an excuse is able to form in his mind, "I will stay.
If you want me."
"I always want," Ethan whispers, so quietly that for a moment Dmitri thinks he might have imagined it.
But judging by the blush that deepens across Ethan's cheeks, Dmitri hasn't, and it's enough to make his heart skip a beat.
It's also enough to lure him back to the bed, and in the next moment Dmitri's sitting down, reaching forward to tangle Ethan's fingers with his own, needing some sort of tether to tie him to the moment.
To remind himself that this is real and not another unfulfilled fantasy.
Ethan's breath hitches as their fingers meet, and Dmitri gives them a squeeze, knowing exactly how he's feeling.
"I don't understand how you're here," Ethan says suddenly, "I don't – I don't remember."
He looks frustrated as he tells Dmitri, and Dmitri wants to tell him although he doesn't know how.
"You asked for me," Dmitri says, which is the truth although it isn't the whole truth.
And of course, it isn't enough for Ethan's confused mind.
"I asked and you came?" Ethan says a bit skeptically, "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Dmitri says, but Ethan is frowning, his brain obviously fighting to fill in the details from last night.
"The last thing I remember is being at the bar," Ethan says.
It's Dmitri's turn to frown as he remembers finding Ethan outside, remembers the moment of absolute fear when he'd thought that something had happened to him, that someone had hurt him.
"What's that face?" Ethan asks, and Dmitri does his best to school his features.
"Is nothing," he says.
"It doesn't look like nothing."
"I was worried about you," Dmitri confesses.
Ethan's frown deepens.
"Why were you worried about me?
Did I write something to you?"
"Not as such."
"Not as such?"
Dmitri knows that he needs to tell him the rest, but Ethan's brain, it seems, works faster than Dmitri's indecision.
"There were women at the bar," Ethan says suddenly, "Telling me that they were you.
Why did they – how did they know that, Dmitri?"
Ethan's voice is becoming increasingly high-pitched, but Dmitri's brain is stuck on the fact that Ethan just used his name, his
first name
, and that it sounds absolutely beautiful in Ethan's unpracticed accent.
"Dmitri, why did women at the bar claim that they were Demi?"