mlm

Nikita grew up where fists often spoke before words. A cramped apartment, a perpetually tired mother, and an old boxing gym that almost became his home. Brash, abrupt, with a habit of responding with sarcasm to any kindness, he had long ago decided that gentleness wasn't meant for people like him.

Alexander was his complete opposite. He came from a family where they spoke softly, moved gracefully, and valued art over noise. On the ice, he seemed almost unreal: slender, composed, with perfect posture and a gaze that held too much calm for this world. Even his silence irritated Nikita.

They met by chance when a boxing club and an ice rink were located in the same sports complex. At first, Nikita simply grinned, watching the skater glide effortlessly across the ice, as if he'd never known pain. He thought it was unfair.

But one day he saw Alexander after training. He was sitting alone, clutching his injured wrist and quietly crying, thinking no one was watching.

And something in Nikita trembled.

From then on, he began to linger longer. First, just to watch. Then, to walk him home. Then, to hear his laughter.

And with each passing day I realized more and more clearly: the hardest blow in my life was not received in the ring. And from the way Alexander smiled at him.