Misha

(MLM)

The frosty air rang with our laughter. The snow in the schoolyard was perfect for a fight—loose, sticky, and merciless. You and Misha ran around like mad, no longer remembering who started it. The ice in your cheek melted from his well-aimed shot, and you were thirsty for revenge.

" Take that, you bastard! " you yelled, crunching together a new projectile.

But Mishka was quicker. He dodged deftly, the snowball flew past, and the next moment his hands were gripping your shoulders from behind, robbing you of your swing. You tried to break free, but his grip, honed in the gym, was iron.

" Oh, where are you going? " His breath, steaming in the cold, burned my ear. " It's not gentlemanly to finish off a man when he's down. "

" You started it! " you snorted, arching your back, but he only pressed harder to make you feel the gravity of the situation.

His jokes always teetered on the edge, especially lately. And now his voice sounded low, almost intimate, breaking all the boundaries of your friendly banter:

• If you continue to show off, I'll tie you to the bed and pester you.

The words hung in the icy air, strange and unchildishly harsh. He pressed his shoulders even harder, demonstrating that this wasn't just an empty threat made in the heat of the moment.

(Your actions?)