Chapter 16

After Danny finally musters the energy to clean himself, he glances at Sasha, who's lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His hands are folded over his stomach, awkwardly, like he's not quite sure what to do with them now that they're no longer touching Danny.

Sasha doesn't strike him as much of a cuddler, but Danny is, would honestly probably choose cuddling over sex if he could only have one of them for the rest of his life, and the sooner Sasha knows that, the better. So once he's done with the tissues, he scootches over and drapes himself across Sasha's chest.

"Hi," he says, grinning at the startled look he receives.

"Hello…" Sasha's reply is more of a question, his brow furrowing as he tries to figure out what Danny's doing.

"I hope you don't mind, cuddling's, like, my thing," Danny explains, and Sasha frowns a little.

"Cuddling?"

"Yeah, this," Danny says, gesturing down at them.

Sasha continues to frown. "You lie on people? Like they are pillows?"

Danny laughs, since it's basically true. "Only people I like," he promises, leaning in for a kiss.

Sasha doesn't say anything, but while they're kissing he wriggles his arms free and then puts one of them around Danny's shoulders, which feels more or less like acceptance of his pillow status.

They lie there for a moment, Danny adjusting to angles instead of curves, Sasha instead of a girl. He's used to being the one on his back, but he likes this, too—the steady rise and fall of Sasha's chest, the way it reminds him of dozing off on a boat after a long day in the sun.

If they stay like this for much longer, though, he might actually fall asleep, so he forces himself to open his eyes. "This was really nice," he says, resting his chin on Sasha's sternum.

"Yes," Sasha agrees. And he smiles—a real smile, not rolling his eyes at Danny or making fun of him, but something softer and shier that squeezes everything out of Danny's lungs.

Especially when he realizes it'll be seven months before they see each other again.

"What?" Sasha asks, his smile already fading.

"I wish we didn't have to wait until worlds." Danny swallows, because even that's a best-case scenario—assuming neither of them are injured, assuming both of them make their country's team. But if one of them misses Glasgow, and Sasha doesn't get sent over for the American Cup again, then the next time they'll cross paths is in Rio.

Assuming neither of them are injured. Assuming both of them make their country's team.

Judging by Sasha's silence, he's thinking the same thing. "October is not so far," he says quietly, more like he's trying to convince Danny than he actually believes it himself. "We will be busy training."

"Yeah." Danny hesitates, wondering if he's going to sound clingy for what he wants to ask—and then he decides he doesn't care, because seven months is actually a really fucking long time. "Can you text me more?"

Sasha tilts his head, confused. "I text you."

"Yeah, but, like… only when I text you," Danny points out, as if it's just something he's happened to notice and not something that's been bothering him since Nanning. "You can send me stuff, too."

"What do I send you?" Sasha asks, perplexed, as if the idea has genuinely never occurred to him before.

"I don't know, anything." Danny almost laughs when Sasha stares back at him, like this isn't enough guidance and he needs specific instructions. "Well, okay… do you have any pets?"

Sasha shakes his head.

"Okay, um… I mean, literally, just stuff from your day, like…" Only now that Danny's thinking about it, he doesn't actually know what Sasha does outside of the gym. Apparently he doesn't have time to watch football, but he must have some hobbies, or friends who aren't teammates; or at least a show he likes to put on when he's too tired to do anything else, even if it's all in Russian and Danny's never heard of it before.

But as much as he suddenly wants to ask Sasha fifty million questions about his home life, the Parks aren't going to be at dinner forever, so he settles for something gymnastics-related. "Well, you could send me a video of that triple Tsuk you're working on…"

Sasha's eyes go comically wide, and Danny can't help but laugh.

"Oh, come on, dude. Your two and a half is so high, seriously, you're like hanging in the air every time you do it. There's no way you're not upgrading that."

For a few seconds, Sasha tries to act like he doesn't know what Danny's talking about, and then he caves. "Yes, I have triple," he admits, flushing. "Triple Yurchenko, too. Almost."

"Dude!" Danny whacks him on the shoulder. "That's fucking awesome. Send me a video, I want to see both of them."

"Okay," Sasha agrees after a moment, and Danny figures he might as well go for broke.

"You can call me, too. If you want."

There's another pause, Sasha's eyes scanning his. "You want me to call you?"

"If you want to, yeah. No pressure." Danny shrugs, like it doesn't matter one way or the other, but then he thinks—what the hell is he doing? He's not going to see Sasha until October, and if he doesn't speak up now, the only thing that's going to get him is sporadic text messages for the next seven months. "I mean, it would just be nice if we could talk sometime."

He feels vulnerable as fuck, making eye contact with Sasha while he says this, but it's worth it when Sasha finally nods.

"Okay. Yes. Would be nice."

There's that smile again, flickering at the corners of his mouth, and it takes all of Danny's restraint not to kiss him right then and there. The only reason he doesn't is because he should probably try to play it at least a little cool (although feeling this stupidly happy over a phone call that hasn't even happened yet is like the exact opposite of cool).

The room is quiet for a minute, neither of them saying anything, until Danny remembers another issue that's been nagging at him. "Hey, Sasha?"

"Yes?"

"What you and Jan were talking about yesterday, about people treating you differently because you're Armenian… does that happen a lot?"

"I am not Armenian," Sasha says quietly. "I am Russian."

"Sorry." Danny flushes—all those times he's heard Noah talk about people assuming he's Asian, not American, and he just went and did the same thing to Sasha. "I didn't mean…"

"There are comments, sometimes." Sasha shrugs, his gaze sliding away. "But it is not important."

Which was what he'd said yesterday, only Danny wasn't buying it then, and he isn't buying it now. But trading hand jobs doesn't give him a free pass to pry into Sasha's life, even though he wishes it did; so he limits himself to just one more question, making it a softball, something Sasha can bat away if he wants. "Your teammates don't do that, though, right?"

"No." Sasha shakes his head, firmly enough that Danny believes him. "When we were young, yes, some of them repeat things their parents tell them. But Kirill made them stop."

Danny's opinion of Kirill rises several notches, and he can't resist saying, "I'm glad he's using his evil glaring powers for good."

"His—what?"

Danny scrunches up his eyebrows and purses his lips, doing his best impression of the way Kirill had glowered at him in Nanning. It must be pretty close, because Sasha laughs, then immediately looks guilty and starts defending his friend.

"Kirill is not evil. He is—he is—"

"I know." Danny plants a conciliatory kiss in the soft spot beneath Sasha's collarbone. "That's really nice of him to stand up for you."

Sasha seems mollified, and for a while neither of them speak. Then there's a change in Sasha's breathing, his chest going still for a few seconds before he says, "My father was Armenian."

Even before Danny looks up at him, he knows Sasha's use of the past tense wasn't a mistake. "I'm sorry," he says, and Sasha shrugs, like he doesn't want Danny's pity. "How old were you when he died?"

"Two. I don't remember. Was worse for my mother."

Still. Danny doesn't know what it's like, doesn't have any close friends who lost a parent when they were young, but he can't imagine it's been easy for Sasha. He wonders if Father's Day is a thing in Russia, and he hopes it isn't, hopes Sasha and his mother don't have to deal with that reminder every year.

"May I use your bathroom?" Sasha asks abruptly.

"Yeah, of course—" Danny just manages to lift himself up in time before Sasha slides out from under him. Retrieving his shorts and underwear from the floor, he disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

The conversation is clearly over, and Danny suspects Sasha won't be sticking around for much longer. Reluctantly, he pulls his clothes back on and checks his phone, but Noah hasn't texted him yet. There is, however, a message from Matt, who's sent him a link from a gymnastics Twitter account.

Matt:hahahaha smooth

Danny opens the link and laughs when he sees that someone actually made a gif of him hugging Sasha on the podium. He watches it a few times, grinning at the look on Sasha's face, and saves the gif to his phone before scrolling through the comments. It's the usual mix of right and completely wrong—from I'm screaming omg did Danny actually tell the Russian guy he was hugging him?? to lmaoo that dude was not here for it—but no one seems to suspect that Danny and Sasha are even friends, let alone…

Matt:did u hook up with him yet

Danny smiles, then sends a single fist-pump emoji.

Matt:legend

Matt:be safe bro

The bathroom door opens, and Sasha steps out. He hovers awkwardly on the carpet, looking so solemn that Danny's suddenly afraid he's about to leave and never come back.

"Check this out," he says, trying to stall for time. He brings his phone over to Sasha and shows him the gif, relieved when something like a smile ghosts across Sasha's face. "Everyone thinks I'm annoying you, but I don't know, I think you kind of like my hugs."

Sasha's sigh slides between his ribs like a knife. "Danny…"

For a horrible moment, Danny thinks he's going to say We can't do this anymore, or This was a mistake, but what he actually says isn't much better.

"You can't hug me. At competition."

"Wait… really?" Danny asks, crestfallen. "Why not?"

Okay, that was a stupid question—he knows exactly why not. But no hugs? Seriously? Not even, like… a bro hug?

Sasha's exasperated expression reminds him of every Spanish teacher he's ever had. "There were too many people. And we are on television. Everyone saw you."

"Yeah, but I hugged Noah first," Danny points out. "Also I definitely hugged, like, everyone else at least once."

Sasha frowns at him, but he doesn't seem to have a counterargument. Sensing room for negotiation, Danny adds, "I mean, if you really don't want me to… but I'm just saying, it might look kind of suspicious if I don't."

"What do you mean?" Sasha asks warily.

"Well, if I hug everyone except you, then people are gonna be like, why isn't Danny hugging Sasha, and someone's gonna tweet about it, and it's gonna be a whole thing. But if I hug you, then it's like… camouflage. You know?"

Sasha's eyebrows are rising higher and higher; Danny kind of wants to take a picture, but that probably wouldn't help his case.

"So, actually, if you think about it," he concludes, "the only way for people not to find out about us is for me to hug you."

There's about three seconds of silence, in which Sasha looks at Danny and Danny tries to keep a straight face, and then Sasha punches him in the shoulder. "You are horrible liar."

"I'm not!" Danny protests through his laughter. "Sasha, swear to God, it'll be so much less weird if I hug you than if I don't hug you. At least if we're in the same rotation. Please?"

Sasha holds out for an impressively long time, but no one can resist Danny's puppy-dog eyes (not even Buddy and Luna, the actual canines in the Hartman household). "If we are in same rotation, you can hug me once," he relents, giving Danny a very stern look.

"Yes!" Danny fist-pumps the air. "Thank you—"

"But you can't hug me in front of team," Sasha says quickly. "And you can't—" He breaks off, trying to find the right words. "Yesterday. When stretching."

"What do you mean?" Danny asks, confused. The only thing he'd done yesterday was tell Sasha he wanted to kiss him, but no one else had been anywhere near them.

"You said you like watching me more than Kohei. In front of everyone," Sasha reminds him. "And you were always smiling at me. And you were—how do you say—" One of his eyes starts twitching.

"Are you okay?" Danny asks, but then it happens again, and he realizes Sasha's doing it on purpose. "Wait, are you winking? Is that—really? Wow, that's hilarious." He can't help laughing: Sasha has hands-down the worst wink he's ever seen in his entire life.

"Yes, winking," Sasha mutters, his face flushing crimson. "You did that, too. And someone will—"

"Dude, don't even worry about it," Danny says; he's still cracking up over whatever it was that Sasha just did. "Literally no one noticed—"

"Danny." Sasha's fists clench in frustration, but it's the panic flaring in his eyes that stops Danny short. "Not funny. My team will notice. Coaches, too. You can't."

And now Danny feels like an asshole, because he knows he was pushing the envelope yesterday. Not enough for anyone else to catch on, he wouldn't have gone that far—but he'd wanted to tease Sasha, just a little, and watch his reaction. It hadn't even occurred to him that this might not have been as fun for Sasha as it was for him, that he might have been genuinely afraid Danny's behavior would out them.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. "I wasn't—I won't do that in front of your teammates. I promise."

Some of the tension in Sasha's shoulders loosens, and Danny feels even worse when he sees how relieved he looks.

"I'm really sorry," he apologizes again. "I didn't mean to freak you out. I'm not trying to get us caught or anything."

"Thank you." Sasha seems to breathe a little easier, his cheeks returning to their normal color. "Maybe better in America. But in Russia…"

Something shutters behind his eyes, and Danny knows he has to ask, even if he's afraid to hear the answer.

"Sasha, are you… like, if someone finds out, are you safe? Are you gonna be okay?"

Sasha doesn't respond right away, which says more than words ever could, and Danny feels like he's just inhaled a mouthful of chalk, dust filling up his throat and making it impossible to breathe. Finally, Sasha says, "Moscow is not so bad as other places. But it is not good. And I will not be on team if they find out."

Not good.What does that mean? "Not good" as in he'll be called names, or "Not good" as in something a lot worse?

Before Danny can bring himself to ask, Sasha looks at him. "Safe for you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Danny replies, only to wonder—should he be saying that so quickly? Maybe growing up with liberal parents in a mostly LGBTQ-friendly part of California has made him take certain things for granted, like pride parades and rainbow flags on houses; maybe if he actually came out, he'd be in for a rude awakening.

Yet whether it's na?ve or not, he still can't imagine being rejected by his family and close friends, or even getting kicked off the national team, let alone having to fear for his life.

Realizing just how much more Sasha might have to lose than him, he swallows and asks, "Do you want to stop? I mean, if this—if this is too dangerous…"

Sasha looks taken aback. "Do you want to stop?"

"No! No, definitely not," Danny reassures him. "But I don't want you to get in trouble, either."

"No trouble. If no one knows."

Danny's not completely convinced, because even if they're careful they could still get caught; but it's Sasha's decision to make, and his expression isn't wavering. "If you're sure," Danny says, relieved when Sasha nods. "So…"

He's about to ask Sasha what this means for them—if they're friends with benefits now or what—but Sasha's looking at the door, reluctance written across his face. "I should go."

Even though Danny doesn't want him to leave, he knows the Parks are probably almost done with dinner at this point. "Okay," he says, but then he thinks about them not seeing each other until October, or maybe the Olympics, or maybe never again, and he has to pull Sasha in for a hug so he doesn't start freaking out.

Other than a small, soft sigh, Sasha doesn't protest. He doesn't even fidget when Danny holds onto him for longer than he should, which makes Danny hope he might one day progress to actually returning the hug.

"We're both making worlds this year," Danny mumbles, and Sasha nods into his shoulder.

It's not a guarantee—it can't be—but it makes it a little easier for Danny to let go of Sasha, help him find his shirt, and walk him to the door. "Text me when you get home," he says on reflex, and Sasha seems surprised, but he still agrees.

There's a moment when Sasha hesitates with his hand on the latch, glancing back. It looks like he's about to say something, but whatever it is, he changes his mind.

"See you at worlds," he tells Danny after a pause, and then he's gone.