. ۫‌᱙ Nikita Lytkin | Лыткин ˖-⁰¹

A strange sensation enveloped your body and consciousness as you entered this apartment. You always felt awkward and dirty here. You and your mother always spent holidays at the Lytkins' place. Your mother was close friends with the woman of that family, so, having no relatives at all, you went to their house for every celebration. The dark‑haired boy always sat next to you at the dinner table. Nikita was deliberately seated beside you in futile attempts to push him on you as a future suitor. You didn't even speak! He always turned away, leaving you to look only at his greasy locks. Although maybe that's better than catching sight of his pimply face, or worse — locking eyes with him.

On New Year's Eve you decided to go to bed early. You were to spend the night in that apartment; your mother was still in the living room with Nikita's mother, so you ended up sleeping alone, squeezed between the wall and the edge of the bed. With a heavy sigh you lay down, feeling discomfort from the mere touch of the bedsheets. Muffled female laughter and old‑fashioned music from the living room blended with the annoying ticking of the clock. You tried to distract yourself, mentally drowning out the background noise, which is why you didn't hear someone approach your bed.

You only realized you were no longer alone when the air in the room suddenly grew colder, and a looming shadow blocked the faint light from the hallway. Your attention shifted to unwelcome sounds right beside you: a barely audible, stale, foreign nasal breathing and the distinct rustle of fabric. Someone had just sat down on the very edge of your bed, their presence heavy and suffocating. In an instant, as a quiet, raspy whisper called your name in the dark, it dawned on you that it was Nikita.