#fix your posture and take a water break while he's crossing your dash ^_^

[valeriapryanikova]

tiny g !

[anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya]

Pride and prejudice - Vasiliy Alexandrovich Podkolzin

AN: There is way too little content for this Russian boy. Enjoy. (:

Word count: 5 023

A day like any other. Boredom, annoying questions by teachers, who think we have actually studied for their classes. The classes, which are according to my humble opinion, completely useless. Don’t let me forget to mention the stupid jokes during breaks and also classes. Hyperactive freaks, who had way too many cokes or cups of coffee for breakfast are dashing around bored students, who are dragging their feet behind them as if they were useless pylons in the narrow halls. Professors, who strode along the hallways give off the feeling of having all the time in the world. You know, the school classic.

I’ve just changed after my PE class and am currently waiting for my classmate Terka. There are two Tereza’s in our class so she’s Terka and I am Tete. But we both turn around when someone calls Terka, anyway.

I am leaning on the wall with my arms crossed, waiting for her to pick up her belongings. When she’s done we leave the locker room. I tap my pocket and realize that, in fact what I am looking for is not there. “Give me a second, I left my phone in there,” I say and jog back in to the locker room.

“Psh,” she sighs with a smile. At first I was the one waiting and now the tables have turned.

I find it in the same spot where I’ve left it. On a bench in the corner of the locker room. I grasp it a little bit more swiftly than I intended to. I shake my head at myself when I almost drop it. The second I exit the locker room I am met with a not so pleasant sight.

Standing right across from Terka is a tall brown-haired imbecile. 

He has clearly said something that made her uncomfortable. I figure that out by her defensive posture and desperate glance in my direction. Her action alerts the idiot and his gaze falls upon me.

“Ah, there she is,” he turns towards me with his smirk and accent, which is much more beautiful than he actually deserves. He’s probably the most egoistic and annoying hockey player I know (and I know quite a few). Vasiliy Podkolzin. Never have I minded his existence. Well, until he decided to annoy me with it. I don’t get what is his deal, but not once in his life did he say a nice word about me. Since the beginning of school he’s had some kind of a problem with me, but to this day I have no idea what it is. To hell with that! But he is not going to jibe at my friend.

“Leave her alone,” I furrow my eyebrows at him and slide my phone in the pocket of my jeans. Exactly where it should’ve been before.

He snorts and slides his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants. Wow. Sweatpants in the school. Nice. A hockey player no doubt. I roll my eyes at the choice of his attire. “What exactly have I done?” he raises his eyebrow challengingly and tilts his head.

“I get that you have nothing better to do and are desperately trying to attract some kind of attention,” I start to which he merely raises his eyebrows again. “But leave her,” I gesture towards Terka, “alone.” I cross my arms over my chest. She just keeps switching her look between the two of us. Slight panic growing in her eyes. Poor thing, she is an introvert.

“Or what?” he shrugs and leans on a wall with a smirk I would more than like to wipe of his face with a hard slap.

I roll my eyes again. Seems it is a frequent reaction of mine to his presence. “Because by a conversation with intelligent people you could actually learn something,” I sass him and a smirk finds its way on my lips.

“Lucky me for talking to you then,” his smirk grows even wider and he acts like he’s the absolute winner.

And he is, I have no reply to that. Unless.. “Shouldn’t you be watching the game clips and learning that one does not deke on the blue line?” I smile kindly. I attend the U20 games regularly and unfortunately for him I remember his mistake in the weekend game very well. Which led to the odd man rush and a goal afterwards

I am pretty sure my remark hit a nerve. His smirk falters and he presses his pink lips to a thin line. No one enjoys getting their mistake rubbed in their face. Especially if it’s something you more than care about. “You won,” he rises his hands in surrender.

What? I recoil. I don’t remember this happening before. I look at him dumbfounded, but he just shrugs and seems genuine. I raise my brows and turn towards Terka. She is just as confused as I am. I tip my head in the direction of the classrooms. She nods and heads that direction. I follow her suit. While I am passing him he grabs my wrist and says quietly: “by the way. Nice article.”

I turn to look at him and see the vicious grimace on his face again. I scowl and try to look as disgusted as possible. I free myself from his grip on my wrist and say smugly: “so it actually can read.” How on Earth did he get to that?

His smirk grows even wider, content with my reaction to his comment. “But I am glad you can appreciate my individual puck handling skills marked by Russian school,” he mocks the exact words from my article. I swallow the lump in my throat. How did he know I wrote that? And why the hell could he quote my article!

“Play well or don’t play at all,” I put together a coherent sentence and say it in the most convincing tone I can muster at the moment. “Alexandrovich,” I add with disgust lacing my tone and resist the urge to spit in his face. I bump his shoulder instead. Which I actually fail and hurt myself rather than intimidating him.

“Can’t wait to read another article,” he states from behind me. I just throw him a stern look and flip him off. When we get out of his line of sight I rub my shoulder with a painful grimace and walk eagerly towards my homeroom.

                                                            ▪

I place my belongings in my homeroom and mumble about using the restroom to Terka. I don’t miss the strange looks sent my way by my classmates, who have probably overheard the bickering with the stupid Russian in the hall. I walk over to the other side of the school, because almost no one uses these bathrooms.

With quick strides I make my way through the almost empty hall with my gaze fixed on the ground. I successfully manage to dodge the little to no students shuffling outside of their homerooms. Just before I reach the staircase I lift my gaze. Mistake. My eyes meet the stupid stare of the narcissist. He looks at me with that cocky smirk of his and continues an undoubtedly life-changing conversation with one of his classmates. I startle and flinch slightly, for not more than a millisecond and then I take off down the stairs.

I burst the bathroom door open and let them close with a loud bang. I lean on a wall and look up at the ceiling, his words playing over and over in my mind. That was a cheap shot. I shake my head and push myself of the wall. I walk in one of the stalls and take out my headphones and phone. I start the music and breathe out with my eyes closed.

That was shitty. I know it wasn’t fair throwing at him his Sunday’s mistake. But I didn’t expect that. How the hell did he know? How did he get to the article? No one was supposed to know it was me writing them.  I know he’s noticed me at his games, but there’s no way he could’ve gotten to that. No one knows! Well, at least I thought so.

I emerge from the stall and lean on the sink. I wash my hands and splash my face with water. I take a look at my reflection in the mirror. Is seriously some hockey player full of himself going to throw you off? Absolutely not. I dry myself off and head back to the classroom.

„You okay? “ Terka asks.

„Of course, “I reply and take stuff for my next class out of my bag. „Listen, “I grab her attention after a moment of silence. „Does anyone know about my articles? “I ask with a small voice.

„I don’t think so. Why? “

„Just asking. “

                                                            ▪

                                                One week later.

Pushing your way through a bus in the morning is pretty interesting. Pushing your way through a bus with crutches and a backpack on your back is pretty funny. Please note the sarcasm, thank you. I almost fell flat on my face while exiting the bus. Keyword: almost.

What happened to me? I’ll answer this question with a different question. What is the probability of one falling on the ice and breaking their leg? Big enough to have a cast on mine.

I wait until most of the people pass and at an agonizingly slow pace I make my way to the school entrance.  I have a bit of trouble with opening the sturdy door, but with the help of a couple of passing students I make my way inside. The bigger problem is the staircase leading to the second floor, where my classroom is located. I sigh and reach the first step. With one hand I grab the crutches and with the other I grip the railing. I walk three steps and come to a stop.

God this is torment. Well whatever. I hop to the next step. My small fingers barely get a grip on the crutches and I struggle to keep a hold on them. Just don’t drop them. Just don’t drop them. That’s the last thing I need right now.

„Need a hand with that? “A familiar voice tinted with Russian accent asks above me. I mentally curse and reluctantly look up.

Of course there’s standing Vasiliy. So it really can get worse? I ask myself. I look around. The poor amount of people present would rather get the ground to swallow them than help someone. Yes, it can. I sigh and nod.

He descends the stairs and takes the crutches out of my hands and carefully slides the bag of my shoulders. He dashes up, sets my belongings on the landing and comes back. I place my hand on his shoulder and give my things and then him a skeptical look. He doesn’t seem like he’s up to some dirty shit, but one does never know.

He adjusts my hand so it’s around his neck and wraps his big fingers around my slim wrist. He wraps his other hand around my waist and looks at me with the question written all over his (unfortunately handsome) face.

„If you take me up two steps, then walk away and leave my stuff there,“ I tilt my head in the direction of the landing, „I swear I’ll kick your ass.“ Slowly we start to take up the stairs and I am trying to keep my balance so both of us don’t roll down to the entrance.

He laughs and shakes his head: „I am not that big of an asshole. “

„I wouldn’t be too sure about that, “I point out honestly and glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He presses his (for a guy too red) lips in a firm line.

„What even happened to you? “He changes the topic and his grip on my wrist tightens slightly.

„Broken leg, “by a dumb answer I try to avoid the explanation.

„I can see that, “he roll his eyes.

„I fell on the ice, “I answer shortly. „I played hockey, “I add quietly after a while and wait for his witless remark or an insult.

„The shin? “He asks instead of mockery. Surprised I raise my eyebrows, but nod nevertheless.

We reach the upper floor and I lean on a wall by my arm. He jogs down to gather my stuff and hands me the crutches. „Thanks, “I smile weakly. He throws my bag over his shoulder and I look at him confused. „I can possibly manage the couple of meters there. “

„Are you implying that I can’t, “and the smirk is back. I’d rather take that than a kind smile. His friendliness frightens me. I mean, when it’s aimed at me. You get the point.

I roll my eyes, but against my better judgement a small smile finds its way onto my lips. He won’t give me the bag any time soon. Hence I follow him towards, the classroom.

„Where’s your spot? “ He asks when he walks into the classroom. I point at the desk right next to the door and he sets down my backpack on the desk. I don’t miss the weird looks of some of my classmates. The two of us fighting or not talking at all is the general knowledge. To be honest I am just as confused as they are. For the first time in three years we’re not getting at each other’s throat. What a rare moment.

„Bye, “he turns around and walks away.

„Hey Vasya, “he turns around with eyebrows raised in obvious surprise at the nickname. „Спасибо (Spasiba),“ I lift the corner of my lips. He nods and leaves quickly.

„What was that Tete? “One of my classmates asks.

„I have no idea, “I shake my head.

                                                            ▪

Finally Friday. With my leg propped on a huge couch a game of hockey playing on the TV and a can of beer in my hand. Really an amazing Friday. Would be better without the cast, but I cannot change certain things.

Since I’ve been hobbling with the crutches it is as if I started to exist for the others. It attracts attention and I am not the ghost of our school anymore. People notice me and get out of my way in the halls. I wouldn’t complain if they weren’t looking at me as if I had the plague. But what’s weird is that Vasya is being nice to me. The worst thing is, that I absolutely don’t understand why.

After a while my phone lights up with a new message and I reluctantly reach for it. Right after I take a sip from my beer and criticise the hockey players on the TV for a mistake in the defensive zone. Dumbasses.

Василий(Vasiliy)

>Hi

I furrow my brows surprised, but reply nevertheless.

Me

>Hi?

Василий

>You won’t be writing articles much now huh?

I roll my eyes at the question. Since when do I even have him on snap? Better question. Why do I even have him on snap?

Me

>Eh, well I won’t be going to the games now.. Why are you interested?

Василий

>Aha

>Won’t you lose the readers?

And what is this question supposed to mean now? I frown.

Me

>Vasya what is your point?

Василий

>Come to the game

Me

>Do you even know how many steps are in the arena?

Василий

>I’ll help you

Me

>You are beginning to scare me.

>What is up with you?

>Why am I supposed to go there?

Isn’t he supposed to be happy to get rid of me at least in the arena?

Василий

>I want to talk to you but not on the phone

Me

>Ok?

Although, I have no idea what he wants from me, but the worst case scenario is me going for a walk and punching him in the face tomorrow.

Василий

>Are you coming?

Me

>Yeah.

May I add that in the past three years he has texted me three times, at most? And I am pretty sure I didn’t add him on snapchat. If him helping me with my broken leg in the past week wasn’t weird, then this definitely is. What is going on here? At first he is helping me and now he is texting me to come to his game? If I recall correctly at his latest game he fought with me and tried to embarrass me in front of his teammates. What a douchebag.

                                                            ▪

When I get to the arena guys are already warming up outside. I sigh and head for the entrance. The moment I get closer they notice me. Vasiliy runs up to me with a surprising smile on his features.

I let my gaze wander over his figure. Muscular tights poking out of dark shorts, a black t-shirt covering a toned chest and abdomen. Can’t miss the – probably – team cap worn backwards. He might be a narcissistic idiot, but he looks good. You have to give him that. When I look him up and down I clear my throat and wait for what he has to say.

“You came,” he says as if I weren’t standing right in front of him.

“Yeah. I said I would,” I shrug.

“Yeah,” he nods and throws his hand in the direction of the entrance. “Um, you can go and take a seat, but won’t you be cold?” he looks at me sceptical.

I am currently wearing black jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt decorated with a huge team logo. “Will you hold this for a second?” I hand him the crutches and he takes them with no hesitation. I lift my brow, but choose to not comment on it. I take the drawstring bag of my shoulders and pull out a dark hoodie. I show it to him with a smirk on my face and he looks at me impressed.

“You are going to be cold anyway if you’re going to sit there for two hours,” he points out.

I roll my eyes. “What do you even want from me?”

“Come inside, I’ll get you something,” he takes the hoodie out of my hands and hands me back the crutches, absolutely ignoring my previous question.

“Vasya stop.” He turns back around. “What is going on? Why am I here?” I ask exasperated.

He takes off his cap, runs his fingers over his hair and puts it back. An incredibly inappropriate comment and thought, but that was hot. “Can we talk after the game?”

“No,” I shake my head. You’re not getting out of this that easily. “We have been fighting since the first grade and you’ve never said a nice thing about me. I break my leg and you are a different person. You’re helping me and inviting me to your game. The least I deserve is an explanation,” I breathe out, desperate for an answer. “By the way, guys are missing you,” I tip my head in the direction of a circle of boys kicking a ball. A couple of them is looking in our direction.

He glances at them with a raised middle finger of his hand and trains his attention at me again. “Since the first moment I met you – three years ago – I have hated you,” he starts with a heavy sight.

“That is one way how to start a story,” I point out sarcastically and roll my eyes.

“Shut up,” he says and quickly continues and doesn’t give me the chance to add anything. “But when I saw you helplessly climbing up the stairs,” after his words I furrow my brows, “It was as if something flipped in me.”

“You mean someone flipped you off,” I correct him with a satisfied smirk.

“This is exactly why I hate you,” he looks at me with his characteristic stern look and I roll my eyes once again.

“Then why are you talking to me?”

He ignores my question – again – and continues. “I knew about you only the things I’d heard from someone and I assumed the rest. Call it prejudice if you want to,” he waves his hand, which is holding my hoodie.

I adjust my crutches and tilt my head to the side. I am listening to him with interest and amazement, that his chicken brain can produce so complicated sentences. “The problem is that the more I learned about you the more my illusion about you crumbled,” I look him up and down again and try to process what he is so determinedly explaining. Prejudice and a spoiled illusion? “I am trying to say that I’ve been an asshole and for absolutely no reason, it wasn’t fair. I am sorry Tete.”

Did he just call me Tete? Not once in my life did he call me that. It was whether Tereza or my last name. I look at him intensely for a second and wonder if he is saying the truth. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he nods.

“Okay,” I nod. “Apology accepted,” it is only fair to accept it. I’ve done exactly the same what he did.

“You addressed me as Tete. You’ve never done that before,” I point out after a while and he laughs. I swear his cheeks just got red!

“Yeah. And you called me Vasya,” he rubs the nape of his neck. “Almost no one calls me that here in Slovakia. Well, besides them,” he jabs his thumb in the direction of his teammates. That is probably true. Not many people know nicknames of Russian names. When I realize that my cheeks get pink and I train my gaze on his blue sneakers.

“Go out with me,” he throws in as if he wasn’t talking to a person, he just told that he hates them in their eyes.

“What?” my head snaps up and my eyes go wide.

He sighs and waves his hands dramatically. “Tete I like you if you didn’t get it already.”

I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t get out a single sound. I just stare at him dumbfounded. Suddenly I recover and shake my head. “You act like the biggest asshole around and just because you assumed?” I almost yell at him. He flinches and looks unhappy. “Do you realize how stupid you sound right now?”

“I am quite aware,” he nods. He is unbelievable! “Look. I get that you are angry, but give me a chance to fix it,” he looks at me hopeful. “Please.”

“Would you hold this please?” I hand him my crutch. He takes it willingly and I – with now a free hand – slap him with as much strength I can muster. My hand stings from the contact. But it was worth it! A strangled laugh comes from his teammates. I look over at the idiots.

“Shut the fuck up,” one smacks the head of the other one.

“Ouch! Are you fucking nuts? Why did you do that?” with every cell in my body I try not to laugh when the two of them start to bicker.

I look back at the Russian in front of me and furrow my brows. I snatch the crutch out of his hand and lean on it. He turns to look at me and rubs his reddening cheek.

“I admit,” he holds his hand to his cheek. “I deserved that.”

“Damn, you did,” I snarl. I turn around and head to the bus stop.

“Tete wait!” he runs up in front of me and tries to stop me with his raised hands.

I snatch the hoodie out of his hands and side-step him. I hear him sigh and out of the corner of my eye I see his defeated posture. I stop and train my attention at the sky. Please don’t make me regret this. I close my eyes and sigh heavily. “Fine,” I turn to look at him. He looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I also hated you only because of prejudice and stereotypes. To be honest you didn’t help it much,” I admit and he nods. “The stupidest out of all of this mess is that I like you too,” I roll my eyes, but can’t help the slight blush on my cheeks.

“Excuse me?” his eyes go wide.

“And what did you think? I don’t believe a guy with your ego hasn’t taken the notice of his looks. If only for a second you didn’t have your head up your ass, you would notice that we have a lot more in common than I am comfortable with.” He opens his mouth to protest, but he immediately closes them. He is probably thinking over my words.

“Apparently the both of us have made a mistake,” I state loudly. “Let’s try to bury the war axe,” I raise my eyebrows and outstretch my right hand.

He looks at my hand and then at me. Eventually he puts his large hand in mine and shakes it.

“So…” he starts and I raise my eyebrows expectantly. “Ah, сука(suka),” he says and grabs my small face in his hands. My eyes go wide and my heart starts to pound as if I just ran a mile. “Actually I’ve liked you for a long time,” he whispers. “I refused to admit it myself. It was easier to keep the hatred rather than try to make you mine,” he shakes his head. “The pride made me hate you,” he snorts at his own words.

I place my hand on his wrist and offer him a weak smile trying to slow down my heartrate again. “I think I know what you are talking about.” His proximity and touch is not helping my nervousness at all.

“Dear Lord, how much longer will I be there for?” comes from behind him.

“Kiss her already!” one of his teammates yells at him.

That finally sets him in motion and he presses his lips to mine. Not before he sends the finger his way. I hear clapping, shouting and wolf-whistling. Hockey players. He places his hand – the one used to respond to his teammate in sign language – on my waist and brings me closer. The action makes my crutch fall and it lands on the ground with a loud bang. He pulls back all smiley like a kid in a candy store.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” he moves the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Don’t be so full of yourself and go get ready for the game,” I roll my eyes, but with a smile on my face, which I am not trying to hide – this time.

“I’ll score for you,” he smirks with a wink.

“What if you don’t?” I tease and slip my hand down on his strong forearm.

“Are you doubting me?” he raises his eyebrows.

Instead of a verbal response I just shrug with a not interested purse of my lips.

He leans in and whispers to my ear. “Watch and learn.” I get goose bumps from his voice being so close.

He picks up the crutch from the ground and hands it to me with a quick wink. He takes off towards his teammates, all smiles. They greet him with an applause and couple of slaps on the back. I laugh and shake my head. Hockey players.

                                                            ▪

In reality, he scored just like he had said he would.

A pass in front of the net and a he tipped it in. Right after the goal he looked at me and pointed in my direction. I couldn’t, but laugh at his childish romance.

“A goal scored by number 11. Vasiliy Podkolzin,” echoed in the almost empty arena. Let’s face it. A ridiculously small amount of people attends the junior games.

Vasya took the puck and set it aside. I didn’t get it. It wasn’t his milestone goal or anything. Or was it?

                                                              ▪

“I told you,” is the first thing he says, the moment he emerges from the locker room.

I roll my eyes at his words.

“Not even a hug?” he looks at me offended with a pout. Like a kid.

I laugh and motion for him to come closer. My leg didn’t heal magically. I lean the crutches on the wall and wrap my arms around him, when he gets closer.

“It’s hard to believe that I hated you just a couple of hours ago,” I state and wrap my hands around his neck. “But now that I think about it. Shut up, don’t say whatever you wanted to say,” I silence him before he has the chance to doubt my ability to think. He just rolls his eyes, but lets me continue nonetheless. “One would expect, that people like us are best friends or something. We have in common quite a lot,” I shrug.

He laughs and brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It was mutual,” he shrugs. I want to scold him, but I don’t have the chance because he kisses me. If we hadn’t been fighting we could’ve spent the past three years kissing. Why are people so stupid? “I’ve got you something,” he mumbles against my lips.

“And what is it?” I raise my brows and pull back.

He pulls a puck out of the pocket of his trademark sweatpants and places it in my hand. I look at him expectantly, but he doesn’t say anything. He just smiles. I examine the black piece of rubber in my small hand and break into the laughter. I look at him and hug him tightly.

“Are you going to write another article about me?” he couldn’t help himself, but chirp me.

“Shut up you idiot,” I mumble against his chest.

“And we are back to the insults,” he shakes his head. “But I am your idiot from now on,” he presses a kiss to my hair and brings me closer, if that is even possible.

On a white tape stuck around the puck is next to today’s date with a black sharpie written – probably by the coach – in a nasty handwriting “1ST GOAL IN RELATIONSHIP”.