"Debate club, huh? I didn't think that was your style, Grigori." Amelia said, smiling up at him. Her red hair had a firey tinge to it. Framing her freckled face and large glasses. Grigori could see the appeal. His friend had been asked out numerous times, often in his presence. It was often amusing seeing her flush and stammer out a half-assed rejection.
Greg tried to smile back. He really did, but there were too many things going on at once. The doctors had told him there was no cast for a broken clavicle. Instead, his parents had bought him a brace and had shoved him into it. His arm having gotten a plain white cast wrapped around it. It's a hairline fracture, should heal quickly. At least quicker than your shoulder. His father had not been happy. Instead, glowering all the way home.
"It's my parents idea, you know that." Grigori had said, keeping his eyes straight ahead as they walked out of the school. It was Tuesday. His mother was most likely home waiting for him with his assigned tutor. Grigori could feel the sting of the ruler against the back of his hands.
"Hey, a bunch of us are heading to the coffee shop down the block, why don't you come? You're always studying. Maybe after… you know, you could come over."
Grigori looked down at Amelia. She fluttered her eyelashes. He knew what she was doing. His friend was flirting with him. Subtly asking him out on a date or whatever this was. Asking him out to her out so they could fool around like normal teenagers.
Fuck.
He wanted to. He really wanted too. Grigori wanted to feel the softness of her lips--of her hands and fingers as she ran them through his curls. Grigori wanted to kiss her and touch her, but fuck he couldn't. He couldn't because he wasn't a normal teenager. He wasn't someone that could just go and hang out--
"Grigori!" Grigori looked up at the harsh voice of his father. He tried to avoid his father's eyes. But it was unavoidable. Artur gestured towards the open door of the car, "Come."
It was not a suggestion, but a command. Grigori swallowed back the bile threatening to rise and instead, forced a smile in Amelia's direction, "Sorry, Amelia, maybe next yeah?"
Grigori tried not to flinch when he got into the car. The drive silent as the scenery of Boston zipped by. He did not fidget. It was unbecoming. Unfit for an Ivanov man, someone of his standing had they been back in Russia. Instead, Grigori took to the window, trying to admire the view--trying to relax.
Artur did not let him. He said to Grigori, the thick Russian filling the car, "You do not need distractions from a girl. You will cease contact immediately."
There was a moment of silence before Grigori answered, "Yes, father."
