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The boy was easy to brush off at first. A country simpleton who had somehow bumbled his way into the Capital.
Then he was asking questions, gushing about Daniil's thesis in a way no one else ever had, his enthusiasm matching Daniil's at times - though his was less serious, less controlled. Daniil caught himself often with the derisive thought that Burakh was childish. That developed into a strange sort of envy with the easy, open way he was impressed with things.
Then they were celebrating passing their exams, and Burakh was giving him a strange, thick drink that tasted of licorice.
"Twyrine," Burakh had told him. "It's something we drink in the Steppe."
Daniil had enough to drink to leave him warm and buzzing. He had enough to drink to grab Burakh by the collar and give the other man his first kiss. He had enough to drink to give Burakh quite a few of his firsts, actually.
It hurt when Burakh refused to acknowledge their past. Had Daniil done something to offend him? Was he simply that unpleasant to be around? What was wrong with him?
It took him too long to realize Burakh just didn't remember him.
Against Daniil's better judgement, he let Burakh give him twyrine again, and he pretended their second was once more their first.
"You're good at that," Burakh had reflected as he patted Daniil's hair. "Got a lot of experience?"
"No. Just once. A boy I met in college." Daniil shut his eyes. "But I don't think he remembers me anymore."