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The boarding gate was crowded.
Families clustered together with carry-on bags and neck pillows. Children were playing on the floor. Business travelers scrolled through their phones. A young couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder near the windows, sharing earbuds.
Kirill hadn't really been much of a people watcher. In fact, he was used to keeping his head down and only paying attention to his own business. But all of the hustle and bustle of traveling caused his head to be on a swivel.
The departure sign above the gate displayed the destination in bright white letters. His flight home was on time, and scheduled to take off in less than an hour.
Home.
The word should have brought him comfort, but instead it felt like a stone sinking inside of his chest.
Kirill sat alone near the window with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. The battery was almost dead.
Not that it mattered to him much. He knew once he got on the plane he'd be able to charge it; and probably take a long nap if he was lucky.
He spent the next few minutes staring at the same conversation- the last text message he had received from Quinn.
QH: have a safe flight
see you when I see you
That was it. No heart emoji. No jokes. No 'I'll miss you.'
Just those short simple words that anybody could have sent him.
Surely not the guy who had been in his bed more often than his own.
Kirill rubbed his thumb over the small photo of Quinn's face on the top of the screen.
His chest felt heavy. He felt like an idiot. Stupid, even.
Maybe he should have asked Quinn how he felt about him. Maybe he should have said something himself about where his own head was at. Maybe he should have just told Quinn the truth instead of pretending everything was fine the way it was.
Instead he'd done what he always did. What he was taught to do.
Packed his feelings into a box. Locked the lid. Carried it around until it became too heavy to lift.
Rinse and repeat. The Russian way to deal with feeling anything at all.
The airport speakers crackled overhead and quickly stirred him out of his thoughts.
"Passengers traveling on Flight 104, we will begin the boarding process shortly."
Several people surrounding him stood up immediately.
Kirill remained seated.
His eyes drifted toward the massive windows. Outside, the plane waited.
All he had to do was grab his bag, stand up, board the plane- and go home. Back to his language. His people. His memories.
A painful smile touched his mouth. He did love Russia; so much. He loved the cold. He loved the simplicity of life there. He loved his mom's cooking and catching up with the rest of his family.
He may have loved Russia- but Russia did not love him back.
The smile he wore slowly faded. He looked away from the window...instead he glanced down at the phone in his hands.
He had spent years trying not to think about his truth. Maybe even a decade. Trying not to acknowledge the distance between himself and the place he loved. The place that often felt like it no longer had room for him. For people like him.
The place that belonged to his childhood but not necessarily his future. And somehow that feeling reminded him of Quinn.
The realization made his stomach drop down to his knees.
Because maybe that was the problem. Maybe he had spent so long missing home that he hadn't noticed he had built another one.
Right there, in Minnesota.
His phone screen remained dark.
No new messages.
No missed calls.
No reason to stay.
And yet his mind kept drifting. To Quinn falling asleep on his couch midway through a movie. Quinn laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. Quinn trying his best to pronounce certain Russian words but failing quite miserably.
Little things.
Silly things.
The kinds of memories that shouldn't have had any substance to them but also somehow mattered to him the most.
Kirill squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to stop.
Feeling that way seemed ridiculous. Him leaving wasn't going to be for forever.
He would be back at the end of summer.
Three months.
That was all.
Three months should not feel like a lifetime.
And yet, every time he imagined boarding the plane, something inside him recoiled.
Not because he was afraid of returning to Russia.
Because he was afraid of what the distance would do.
Afraid that three months would feel so long to them both. Too long.
Afraid that by the time he came back, Quinn would have moved on with someone else. Someone who didn't disappear across the ocean. Someone confident enough to say what they felt. Or...someone completely different than him entirely; a woman, perhaps.
The thought of that made Kirill physically ill.
The boarding announcement sounded again.
Passengers began lining up in their designated area- the line stretched almost to where Kirill sat.
Still, he didn't move a muscle.
His pulse hammered in his neck. This was insane. He had planned this trip for months. He always went back home as soon as the season was over. Always. Everybody knew that.
His family expected him. Friends expected him. Everybody expected him to go.
Even Quinn expected him to go.
The sensible thing to do was to get on the plane. The thing any normal person would do.
So why couldn't he stand up?
Kirill just stared at the gate. At the line shrinking as passengers veered off into the tunnel to board the plane.
His heart seemed to beat harder with every person who boarded. He imagined himself among them; walking down the corridor, finding his seat, buckling in. Watching Minnesota pass him by beneath the clouds.
He tried to imagine how that would feel.
Relief?
Freedom?
Excitement?
No. He didn't feel any of those things. Instead all he felt was...unsettled.
A sharp, aching feeling that stole the air from his lungs.
The realization hit suddenly. Violently- like being struck by lightning.
It then dawned on him that he wasn't choosing between America and Russia. He wasn't choosing between staying and going.
He was choosing between fear and Quinn.
Fear said 'get on the plane.'
Fear said 'protect yourself.'
Fear said 'if Quinn rejects you, at least you'll be six thousand miles away when it happens.'
Fear said 'distance will hurt less.'
Kirill looked down at his phone. His thumb hovered over Quinn's name.
He had truly convinced himself that leaving was easier.
Now, sitting in the airport surrounded by strangers heading fearlessly toward their futures, he finally understood the truth.
Leaving wasn't brave. Leaving was hiding.
The final boarding call echoed through the terminal.
Kirill stared at the gate. Then at Quinn's name on his phone. Then back at the gate.
His chest hurt. Like his heart was physically fighting him.
A nervous laugh escaped his throat as he rubbed a hand over his face.
"God," he mumbled out into the open.
If he got on that plane without telling Quinn how he felt about him, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
Maybe Quinn would reject him. Maybe Quinn would laugh. Maybe Quinn would tell him to leave.
But at least it would be real.
At least he would know.
The gate agent announced that boarding was closing.
Kirill finally stood from his seat.
For one breathless moment he thought he was actually going to do it. Actually going to board.
Instead he turned away from the gate and headed towards the terminal exit.
His heart was racing so fast he thought he might pass out. He was terrified. Terrified of what would come next.
But as he continued to walk away from the terminal, breathing became slightly easier for the first time all day.
——————
Kirill stood in the hallway outside of Quinn's apartment with damp hair, a duffel bag hanging from his fingers, and absolutely no idea what he was doing.
Two hours ago he had been sitting at the airport.
Now he was there. Just standing outside of the door. Wondering if he should text him first, or just knock. Something. Anything.
But this was Quinn. The very person he had been trying to leave behind. He didn't deserve to spend a single second thinking he wasn't worth staying for.
Kirill raised his fist to knock on the door and delivered three firm knocks. After waiting what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, he prepared to knock once more. But just as he lifted his hand, the door swung open.
Quinn's expression was nothing short of surprised; eyes fixating briefly to the duffel in Kirill's hand.
Then back to his face.
"What the hell?" He asked, flipping his wrist around to check the time on his watch. "You...you missed your flight."
He made it clear that it wasn't a question.
Kirill swallowed.
"I did miss flight, yes."
Quinn's jaw flexed. The muscle there jumped; Kirill saw it for himself.
"On purpose? You missed your flight on purpose? Or what, security took too long? Help me out here."
His hands felt numb. And Quinn still had not invited him inside.
"It was choice. I did not board plane. I...just turn around and leave, you know?"
Quinn stared.
For a second his face became unreadable. There were many moments where he looked like that- it wasn't intentional, at least, Kirill never thought it was.
"But...why?"
Kirill had pictured how this moment would go a hundred times on the ride over there. In every version Quinn looked shocked. Relieved. Maybe even happy.
But what he had imagined was not the reality that stood in front of him. Quinn looked exhausted, as if Kirill returning had become one more problem he didn't want.
"I think we should talk," he said as calm as he could. "Can I come in?"
"No."
The answer came instantly. Kirill blinked and squeezed his grip on his bag to hold it tighter.
"What?"
"No. No we shouldn't. And no you can't."
Quinn folded his arms across his chest.
In that moment, his demeanor felt colder to him than Russia ever had.
The words hit harder than they should have- Kirill felt them. It felt like he was being shoved backwards, hard.
Rainwater dripped from the ends of his hair onto the floor. Neither of them moved.
Quinn finally looked away first, his eyes darting to his feet. At the ground. Anywhere except Kirill.
"You should've gotten on the plane," he muttered, shaking his head.
Kirill laughed softly, more so to himself.
Not because anything was funny.
Because suddenly he felt kind of insane.
"But I did not, Quinn."
Kirill shifted his weight.
His heart was beating so hard it hurt. "I try."
Quinn's hazel eyes snapped back to Kirill's.
"I sit there."
His voice came out pretty rough as he continued.
"I have passport. Bag. Everything."
The memory rose clear and vivid. Hearing the boarding call. Seeing all of the passengers standing up. Having the certainty that if he got on the plane he would regret it forever.
"I think...maybe okay, yes get on plane."
Quinn's expression flickered for a moment but then it was gone again.
"And?"
Kirill smiled bitterly.
"And then I think if I do, maybe I am like idiot."
Then it was Quinn's turn to laugh.
"You're here instead of on your way home. Of course you're an idiot for that."
The cruelty felt deliberate. But Kirill knew Quinn well enough to recognize what it meant. He only got mean like that when he was scared.
The knowledge of that kept him standing there- it kept him from walking away right then.
"I could not go," he said quietly.
"Why the hell not?" Quinn snapped back.
The question sounded angry. So angry.
Kirill just looked at him. Because they both knew.
They had known for a long time. They both felt something for each other; something more than what they ever said out loud.
"You know why."
"No."
"Quinn."
"No. I don't. I don't."
The sharpness of the response startled them both. Kirill noticed Quinn's breathing change; his chest rose and fell visibly, and his shoulders stiffened until his whole body went tense.
"Quinn, please. Can I come in? Just for little bit?"
It must have been the desperation in Kirill's voice this time, because Quinn let out a sigh and stepped aside, allowing him to enter his apartment.
Kirill respectfully didn't go past the entryway. He idled nearby the door, setting his duffle bag down by his feet.
His English was failing him- he knew everything he wanted to say in Russian of course, but nothing Quinn would actually be able to comprehend.
He shrugged his shoulders in defeat and threaded his hand through his damp hair.
"I think maybe you not mad because I come back. I think maybe you mad because I leave in first place. Yes?"
Something cracked across Quinn's face- it had gone almost as quickly as it came. But Kirill saw it. He knew he was right.
"Don't. Kirill, don't."
His voice was low and shaky.
"Do not what?" Kirill was being so genuine that it almost made Quinn's blood boil that much more.
"Don't do that."
Kirill frowned, something he rarely ever did.
"Do what?"
"You know exactly what," Quinn spat.
"No."
Quinn looked away from him again. That hurt more than anything; the pure refusal to even look him in the eye.
Kirill stepped closer, leaving the bag behind.
Only a few short steps. Not enough to crowd him; he knew he hated that.
"Look at me," Kirill whispered.
"Stop."
"Quinn- look at me and tell me to go."
He was so afraid to say those words. So incredibly afraid that he would do just that. Exactly what he asked of him.
“Kirill, this is me telling you."
Kirill shook his head, pulse pounding in his ears.
"No. You are not. If you want me gone, please just say. Say Kirill I want you to go."
Quinn's eyes forced themselves shut briefly. As if he were fighting something. As if every second of their conversation cost him something he couldn't get back.
He couldn't say those words; not the ones Kirill was asking him to say.
"You don't get to fucking show up here and do this, Kirill."
Kirill furrowed his eyebrows together.
"What I’m doing, Quinn?"
Quinn fell silent for longer than a comfortable amount of time. It made Kirill start to sweat down his back a little.
He had no idea what would come out of Quinn's mouth next.
"You decided to leave. Even after everything," he confessed, his bottom lip quivering. "For the whole summer. Like it was nothing. Like we were nothing."
"I- I know," was all Kirill could manage to say.
"You packed your bags. Shipped everything that mattered to Russia. You said goodbye to the guys. You said goodbye to me."
Every one of Quinn's words landed like a gut-punch. And Kirill absorbed them all. Stoic- unaffected.
Because Quinn wasn't wrong.
"I know."
"So, no. You don't get to just come back here because suddenly you realized I'm more than just someone you like to fuck, Kirill. You don't get to fucking do that after making me watch you pack up your life to go to Russia and pretend I don't exist for three months. You don't get to fucking do that!"
The words struck home. Because they were true.
And the brokenness in Quinn's voice was enough to completely shatter Kirill's heart.
"I was scared."
The admission inadvertently slipped out.
Quinn laughed harshly.
"Bullshit."
And just like that, his walls went back up. Higher this time. And stronger. "Just...go home, Kirill."
His words fell quiet and tired.
"I am trying."
Quinn's eyes narrowed, confused.
"What does that even mean? You're doing the opposite of that, if anything."
Kirill looked at the brunette standing in front of him, then at the apartment beyond. The familiar living area. The traces of a life he'd somehow become woven into, despite every effort to deny it.
Then he said the thing he'd carried all the way from the airport. The thing that had followed him for months. The thing that made getting on the plane impossible.
"Is you."
Quinn froze.
Kirill's voice shook.
"You are home. Not Russia. Is always you, Quinn. That is why I come back."
The silence afterward was devastating. Quinn looked like he'd been hit in the face.
And for one single second hope exploded inside Kirill's chest. Because Quinn looked like he wanted to close the distance. Because Quinn looked like he wanted to grab him and never let him go.
But as quick as he saw it appear, the moment vanished.
Quinn stepped backward instead.
Away.
"No," he said shaking his head from side to side.
The word was barely audible, but even so, it made Kirill's stomach twist into knots.
"N-No?"
"No."
Quinn's beautiful eyes glistened.
His voice came out strained.
But he said it anyway.
"You should've gotten on the fucking plane."
Kirill felt like wounds were splintering inside of his whole body.
Still he couldn't stop. Couldn't stop now.
Not after all of this.
Not after choosing him.
"Quinn, I'm try to say I love you."
Quinn shut his eyes again. Pain flashed across his face so openly that Kirill almost reached for him.
Almost.
When Quinn opened them they were bright with unshed tears.
"I know."
That answer destroyed him. Not because Quinn didn't believe him. But because he did. And instead of saying it back he just...took it at face value.
"I know," Quinn repeated softly. "And that's exactly why you should've gotten on the plane."
Kirill shook his head and made the bold decision to finally put his hands on Quinn. He stepped towards him and gently cupped his cheek in his strong hand.
"You wrong," Kirill whispered. "I am right where I want to be. With you, Quinn."
Quinn blinked back tears, but one tiny droplet escaped down his face.
"It's too late. You're too late."
Kirill was not much of a crier but he felt his own eyes beginning to water.
"What you mean, Quinn?"
His mind went to a million different places. What did he mean by that? Did he already have someone new? Was Krill not the only person he had been with during the season? If so...how could he not know about that?
"I'm going to the lake house. You can't...you can't come, Kirill. I leave in the morning."
Kirill looked at Quinn's lips for a long moment before returning his eyes to Quinn's.
"You…not want me there?"
That had been what he had asked, but what he meant was 'you don't want me' in general.
It stung. Badly.
Quinn put his hand over Kirill's, forcing him to hold his face closer.
"Of course I do. But- you just can't. It would be too complicated to explain to my family- to my brothers. Why you didn't go to Russia, why you're there, why only you out of everyone on the team would come to the lake house. You understand that, right? That if you showed up there with me that both of us would be outed. You do get that?"
Kirill said nothing. He only dipped his head low and carefully captured Quinn's lips with his own. They were so soft and warm; it felt perfect. It always did.
Quinn didn't pull away, not at first.
He let Kirill bully his tongue into his mouth and grab him by the hip. He let him push his hair back and nibble on his neck. He even let him run his hands all the way up his shirt.
But he stopped him once he felt himself grow semi-hard in his shorts. He had to.
"Kirill, stop," he mumbled against his lips.
Kirill paused his movements and immediately removed his hands from Quinn’s upper body.
"I-I'm sorry I-"
Quinn rested his forehead against Kirill's chest. He needed to feel him breathing. He needed it to calm him- to bring him back down from his mini high.
He slowly lifted his head up and tucked his hair behind his ear.
"It's not that I don't want to," he admitted. "Because I do. I want you to take me to bed. I want you. But I know that if we have sex…I'm not gonna be able to let you go. And you need to. Kirill, you need to go back to Russia. I think you know that. We both do.”
But he didn't. He didn't need to go. He felt it in his bones that he didn't.
"Quinn-"
"Please don't make this harder," he murmured. "I already watched you leave me once and that was hard enough. Just-" he took a breath. "Just say goodbye to me properly this time. Tell me you'll miss me. Tell me you'll think about me, and call me, and send me photos. Tell me you love me and that you can't wait to come back to me."
The Quinn that stood in front of him now was not the same Quinn that answered the door. It wasn't even the same Quinn he thought he knew. This was vulnerable Quinn. This was unguarded Quinn. This was Quinn trying to be better.
Kirill kissed his forehead and told him everything that he wanted to hear- in Russian.
Because English was still too difficult, and Quinn knew he was good for it.