Chapter 5

"Thank you, aunt Lina, this was amazing," Kirill says, sighing into his empty bowl of solyanka.

Sasha's mother beams at him. She had spent all afternoon working on dinner, refusing to let Sasha help, and now the apartment kitchen smells heavenly—ham and beef mingling with onions, celery, and cabbage, the sly scent of pickles underneath. "Oh, it's nothing, Kirill. I just wish you and Sasha could bring some with you tomorrow."

Sasha and Kirill look at each other and snort. Whenever they go to Round Lake, the first thing the trainers do is search their bags for food—Sasha can't even imagine how they'd react to seeing giant containers of soup.

"Well, it's getting late," Alina says, glancing at the clock on the wall. "You boys should go to bed. Don't forget to set your alarms."

Kirill tries to take everyone's bowls to the sink, but Alina starts scolding him, insisting that he let her do the cleaning. It's a routine that plays out every time Kirill comes over; Sasha doesn't even bother getting involved anymore. He just watches and smiles, and when his mother wins the argument like she always does, he pushes back his chair and hands her his bowl. "Goodnight, Mom."

She kisses him on the cheek, her green eyes sparkling. "Goodnight, Sashenka. Kirill, it's always a pleasure having you. Make sure you come back after worlds, you'll both need some filling up."

As they leave the kitchen, Sasha kisses his fingers and taps the photograph on the silverware cabinet, a habit as old as it is familiar. "Goodnight, Papa."

He doesn't remember the smiling, brown-haired man in the picture anymore—not his voice, not his laugh, not what it felt like to be held by him. He had passed away when Sasha was only two years old, succumbing to a heart condition the doctors in Yerevan had never been able to diagnose. Shortly after, Alina had moved them to Moscow to be closer to her family; in the new apartment, she'd framed the photograph and set it at Sasha's eye level, encouraging him to talk to his father as if he were there.

Now, of course, Sasha's a lot taller; he has to reach down to touch the frame. But he still does it.

While Kirill's in the bathroom, Sasha changes into loose shorts and a t-shirt and finishes the rest of his packing. They'll be at Round Lake for three weeks, training for worlds before they get on the plane to Nanning, China. He, Kirill, Oleg, and Ilya are on the team again; Ilya keeps spamming the group chat with pictures of all the Chinese snacks he wants to try.

Just as Sasha's shutting his suitcase, his phone lights up with a new notification—but for once, it's not Ilya.

It's Danny.

Sasha looks out into the hall, making sure the bathroom door is still closed before he opens the message.

Danny:Upgrade season baby!!

There's a fire emoji and a video. Sasha presses play, keeping the sound low, and watches Danny travel across the pommel horse on his hands, legs locked together and circling under him like a helicopter blade. At the end, he jumps lightly off the horse, then comes over to pick up his phone, grinning at the camera right before the video cuts off.

Sasha shakes his head, smiling, and replays the video. There's a few places where Danny could have a better hip angle, but other than that, everything looks good. More than good, he corrects himself as Danny crouches down to get the phone, offering a close-up of his long, tanned torso. With another glance at the bathroom door, Sasha pauses the video, allowing himself just a few seconds to admire the view.

Then he snaps back to his senses and unpauses it, feeling foolish as Danny smiles at him—or at however many people he sent this video to, which was probably a lot.

Sasha debates whether or not to send a comment about the hip angle, but he can't quite work out the translation in English, and he's not sure if Danny would want that from him. Finally, he settles on something both easier and safer.

Sasha:For worlds?

Danny's response comes in before he's even locked his phone again.

Danny:No its not ready yet

Danny:But it will be for Rio

Sasha blushes, although this isn't the first time Danny's sent him the winking emoji, and he's pretty sure it doesn't mean anything. He's discovered over the past year that Danny's a big fan of emojis in general, and most of his text messages have at least one or two of them.

Other things Danny likes: memes, workout progress videos, and pictures of his dogs, all of which Sasha now receives on a semi-regular basis. He's also gotten several snapshots of the same beach at sunset, documentation of baby birds hatching in a bush outside Danny's gym (which had ended with a photo of an empty nest and a crying emoji), and, inexplicably, a video of Danny standing in his backyard while his mother poured a bucket of ice water on his head.

Sasha has no idea how to respond to half of these things. He can only assume he's been added to some sort of list that Danny has in his head of people who haven't yet asked him to stop sending them weird shit. Surprisingly, though, it doesn't bother Sasha as much as he might have thought. Sure, he'd probably prefer fewer dog pictures, and he's running out of ways to say "nice" about a sunset… but it's not the worst thing in the world, getting texts from Danny.

Or shirtless workout videos.

"Did you set your alarm?" Kirill asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Startled, Sasha closes WhatsApp, hoping Kirill can't hear how loudly his heart is thumping in his chest. He pretends to check his phone, just so he can avoid making eye contact. "Uh… yeah, it's all set."

"Okay, good." Kirill steps inside and shuts the door behind him, then finds a spot on the floor for his bedtime routine: a hundred sit-ups and a hundred push-ups, as if they don't already do enough conditioning at gymnastics. Sasha thinks he's crazy, but there are some things you stop questioning after a decade of friendship, and Kirill's personal training regimen is one of them.

Sasha looks back at his phone and tries to come up with a response to Danny's text about Rio, but Kirill's counting is distracting him, and eventually he gives up and opens Instagram. He barely posts anything—Kirill's the one who set up the account for him—but he's found himself checking it more regularly ever since Danny added him less than a week after they returned from Antwerp.

He's noticed that Danny's a lot more restrained on Instagram than WhatsApp, but that might be because of all his followers, many of whom seem to be younger gymnasts or their parents. He mostly posts gymnastics-related content, whether it's a viewing schedule for an upcoming meet or a sales announcement from the leotard company the American team uses, but once in a while he shares something personal.

Like a photo of his girlfriend.

Sasha has to scroll a little to find the most recent shot of them sitting together on a boat. She's blond and beautiful, he's pressing a kiss to her cheek; the caption is a single red heart. It's exactly what he would have expected from someone like Danny, which doesn't explain why his own heart sank when Danny first posted a picture of her in January. After all, it's not like he'd ever thought Danny was anything other than straight.

He sometimes wonders about the fact that the blonde hasn't appeared in any of Danny's posts since summer, but it doesn't really matter, does it? Even if they've broken up, Danny still likes girls.

Kirill finishes his push-ups with a low groan—that bowl of soup likely didn't help—and collapses onto his mattress, not bothering to pull back the sheets. "Aren't you glad we're getting massages tomorrow?" Sasha asks, and Kirill flips him off.

Grinning, Sasha gets up to turn off the lights. As he does, he realizes he still hasn't replied to Danny's Rio text. Climbing back into bed, he reopens WhatsApp and tries to think of something to say. He supposes he could ask how the rest of Danny's training is going, or if he's nervous about worlds, but that might lead into a conversation, and then what? He'd have to think of even more things to say, and he'd also have to translate them into English, which is always harder late at night for some reason. And he really does have to be up early tomorrow.

In the end, he settles on a thumbs-up emoji. Danny probably wasn't expecting a response, anyway.