elenatria

Itsuko, his brilliant multitasking secretary who had left Yokohama to help set up Bullet-Proof Software’s new office in Seattle, had notified him that a Mister Pajitnov had called during her boss’s Christmas vacation in Europe.

“Something about Tetris with hats...” she read out her notes, “and that he needs your help...?”

Henk’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the man who had turned his world upside down; it was probably a reflex to pain, he assumed, nothing more, because after “the Pool Incident” he had sworn to not let that Russian tongue twister of a name fill him with joy again.

“My help with what?” he asked.

 “He wouldn’t say.”

“Huh...” he tossed over his shoulder and returned to his AS/400.

What did Alexey even want?

Here was a thought: now that the Soviet Union was on its deathbed, the programmer was in desperate need of a job – and a country.

During Henk’s stay in Moscow, between visiting Lenin’s Mausoleum, watching the Bolshoi Ballet perform impossible pirouettes and jerking each other off in run-down toilets, the two of them had also shared their plans for the future. After all, this was the reason why Alexey had visited Henk in Hawaii last June – a potential collaboration, a partnership. Not just to fuck under the candlelight.

However, after those brandy-enhanced Mai Tais, Alexey’s angelic singing and that terrible, embarrassing pool incident, Henk wasn’t sure he wanted to keep in touch with that man anymore.

So you’re not willing to help him because he didn’t sit on your dick? Really?

Henk gnashed his teeth.

During the past eight months he had often found himself fighting with his conscience, their heated arguments sometimes spoken out loud (making his wife and workmates think he was batshit crazy) until his train of thought, his guilt and his ego and all his false hopes, would become one big wreck with no survivors. At the end of each internal battle no one was the winner.

The question was, should he help Pajitnov? Or should he let his assistants deal with him until he gave up calling and sought help somewhere else? Gilman Louie for instance, Henk thought bitterly. If Alexey needs a job (or a loan) why isn’t he calling him? Why me?

He chose the second option and whenever the phone rang, he was never “there”.

Until one day, during an argument with Itsuko about whether they should keep the espresso machine in the office or in the kitchen (“where espresso machines actually belong” she flared), the phone rang more desperately than ever.

Itsuko picked up the receiver.

“Allo?...” came the hesitant voice from the other side of the world.

“It’s Pajitnov,” she said crisply and shoved the phone into Henk’s face. “Again.”

“Itsuko, what--” he mouthed gesturing helplessly at the receiver, “I’m not gonna--”

The secretary turned her back on him, pretending she was leafing through envelopes and belated Christmas cards.

“Allo, Henk, are you there?”

“Itsuko, what the fuck...!” Henk hissed covering the microphone. “UGH!” He ruffled his fingers through his hair. “YES. Yes, Alexey, I can hear you, how are you?” He tried to smile but it was more like a wince. “How is Nina, the boys?”

He threw his secretary a fierce glare as she went through his mail (just how many fucking Christmas cards had they received anyway?) and snuck a glance at his watch, waiting for someone, anyone in that damn office, to come to the rescue; none did.

Bastards.

They knew how to keep themselves busy and shut up, while Itsuko (who was to blame for this mess) grabbed the espresso machine from the desk and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

He was alone then. Okay! Fine.

It wasn’t as painful as he had expected, he realized, listening to the Russian’s smooth voice, besides he could always talk business with a friend, especially a man as bright as Alexey Leonidovich Pajitnov. All he had to do was compartmentalize, forget that he was married, that Alexey was married, that Alexey had brought him to the brink of ecstasy and just as he was about to offer his ass on a plate, he had gotten up and left, terrified of who knows what.

“I need help...” the programmer pleaded from the other end of the line, pulling Henk out of the chaotic mess that had taken over his brain. “Things are getting worse here. They say Gorbachev is going to resign and Yeltsin will take his place. Yeltsin, of all people, that... that pyanitsa.” Henk could almost hear him swallowing the F-word, and would have smiled had he not noticed the slight trembling in the man’s voice.

“It’s not safe to walk streets anymore,” Alexey continued, “we hear of people getting mugged every day. Someone was killed in apartment next to ours only two weeks ago. It is not place to raise our children...”

Henk felt his stomach clench as he heard Pyotr and Dmitri playing in the other room: so this is why Alexey had been so persistent with his phone calls – and Henk had deliberately ignored him. For weeks.

He clamped his eyes shut: he had never imagined his own children growing up among thugs and perverts. Now that was painful.

“What do you need?” he said after a beat.

“I don’t know, I don’t know...” Alexey muttered. “We need to leave Russia. Nina is half-mad with fear after what happened to neighbour, she hasn’t slept for days. I need to find job soon so I can bring family too.”

Henk scratched the back of his head wondering if this was a good time to bring up a discussion they had begun during their first, well, intimate moment.

“Do you remember what I told you when I--” He paused, choosing his words carefully; the last thing he wanted was to have Alexey think that he was just another pervert from the West, ready to take advantage of a man who needed him, a man whose world was falling apart. “Remember when we were at that party in Moscow? After I spilled my drink on your trousers...”

He couldn’t help chuckling at the memory of a shocked Alexey, of how his eyes gradually softened as Henk wiped the whole length of his crotch with calm, even strokes. “I told you to come to the West with me.”

For a few seconds he could hear nothing but Alexey’s heavy breathing.

“I asked if you trusted me to do right by you,” Henk carried on, rubbing his temple to get rid of the ghost of a sensation as he was suddenly reminded of Alexey’s fingers carding through his hair to push him on his growing bulge. “You made a joke then, but you didn’t answer. You probably thought I was joking too.”

He glanced at the Ohara Koson print that was hanging over the fax machine, the one with the mighty stag that seemed wary of the chasm between two cliffs – between two worlds. Such a powerful creature, yet too afraid to take the leap to the other side.

This is it, he thought. This was his chance to redeem himself for making a foreigner he hardly knew feel so uncomfortable while being his guest at his Laie house, for literally scaring him so much that the poor man had to go sleep in a hotel. This was the time to do the right thing, to help Alexey take that leap of faith.

“Do you think I’m joking now?” he asked with a steady voice.

“No...” murmured Alexey.

“Then come to America,” Henk said vividly, “come here, to Seattle. I’ve opened a new office and I could do with a mind like yours.” He shifted his glance around the room, watching his employees as they clicked away at their computers. “You could teach my guys a couple of tricks, bring some fresh ideas to the table. Plus, your English is perfect, you’ll blend in right away.”

The only sound that reached his ears was the rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboards.

“That’s a lot to ask from you...” Alexey said eventually.

“Well...?” Henk arched his brows as he waited for the magic word. “Isn’t that why you called me?”

yes, just say yes, c’mon

“No, I--” Alexey breathed out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know...”

“Here’s what,” said Henk. “I’ll pay for your air ticket - no no, hear me out,” he insisted before Alexey could protest, “I’ll pay for your trip, that’s on me, I’m your boss. And I’ll help you find a place. I’ll pay your rent for three or four months until you’ve saved enough money to get your family here.” He knitted his brow, not sure if he wanted to know what Alexey thought of this crazy idea. “Does that sound like a plan to you?”

“I’m--” Alexey stuttered, “I’m too afraid to leave them behind, even if it is just couple of months.”

Henk pressed his lips together; this was no time to get impatient. “Take your time,” he said calmly, “have a talk with Nina, see what she thinks. There’s no rush.”

A whole week passed. Itsuko answered a bunch of phone calls - from retailers, from journalists, from Howard Lincoln’s team about the case against Atari - but none from Alexey.

It’s only fair, Henk mumbled to himself while shaving, it took me two weeks to answer his phone call. It’s only fair.

“...Are you talking to yourself again?...”

Akemi was glaring at him through the mirror with the toothbrush hovering just a few inches from her mouth.

“Uh, sorry,” Henk cleared his throat washing the foam from the razor, “just... just stuff from work. Sorry.”

 That morning he decided to not talk to himself again in the presence of others; he could still worry and despair and be dead inside if he wanted to as long as nobody could hear him.

After a month and a half he had forgotten all about it. Akemi didn’t gawk at him through the bathroom mirror anymore, the kids stopped avoiding him, everything was fine and life was beautiful again.

That’s when Alexey called.

The answer was yes, with bells on. Nina was ecstatic hearing the news, the Russian said, and she reassured him that during his absence they would manage with her mother’s help. All he had to do now was pack a couple of suitcases and wait for the postman to slip Henk’s air ticket under the door.

Henk slapped his forehead.

The ticket, fuck. He had to get it as soon as possible. He frantically gestured at Itsuko telling her in a sign language he had just invented to buy a ticket from Moscow to Seattle but all she did was stare at him, mouth slacked open. When he finally put the phone down, he explained what she had to do – in spoken English this time.

He heaved out a deep sigh: this was a new life for the mathematician, and a new chapter for him. No more trying to seduce a man who could never get his strong Russian values out of his DNA, who wasn’t his to begin with. The humble genius who had made him rich was going to be his partner. Now they could be rich together. That should be enough.

The ride from the Tacoma International Airport to the small apartment Henk had rented near his office was torturously quiet. Normally he would be showering the programmer with questions about his trip, instructions for his new home, tips on where to get the best coffee, cherry pie and Dutch baby pancakes in Seattle, but all he was getting from Alexey were curt nods and one-word answers.

Should he turn on the music? Should he make a silly joke like the ones he was so good at when the tension was high and the chances to make someone laugh low?

He gave the blond man a side glance: Alexey was staring out of the window, studying the grey jungle of skyscrapers that extended as far as the eye could see with a stony face, perhaps missing already the snowy streets of Moscow.

Henk realized he was squeezing the wheel so hard that his knuckles had turned white; was this a good idea to begin with? He had told Alexey he’d blend in because he spoke English - but it was a lie. Alexey had no friends here, no ties. How would he spend his evenings and weekends until his family came over? Maybe he should join a tennis club or something, keep fit, pass the time. Maybe Henk should get him a season ticket for the Seven Gables Cinema. Did he even like the movies? Henk found it hard to believe he had never asked about little things like that.

“What’s this?” Alexey tapped the glass with his finger.

“Oh, that’s the, um, the Space Needle,” Henk explained taking a right turn. “It’s Seattle’s Eiffel Tower, so to speak.” He huffed out a laugh. “Tall, huh?”

Alexey’s eyes followed the observation tower as they drove around it. “I guess...” he muttered.

“Do you... um... do you guys have something similar in Moscow?” Henk asked. “I don’t remember.”

“We have Shukhov Tower.”

“Ah. What was it built for?”

“Radio broadcasting. And also television.”

“Is it, uh, prettier than this one?” Henk joked, pointing a finger at the top of the tower with the peculiar flat shape. “Because our Space Needle here may be super tall but I don’t think I’d like to have dinner in a flying saucer - unless the waiters were dressed as little green men or something.”

He gave a short chuckle that wasn’t returned.

“It is...” Alexey mulled over Henk’s question for a beat. “It’s not about pretty. It’s about functional. Shukhov Tower is functional. We use it also to find our way through city, it is landmark, it is always there. At least... we hope it will be. They don’t seem to preserve it anymore,” his voice trailed off. “Like a lot of things in Russia. I guess it’s easier to abandon something than fix it.”

Henk studied his face as he waited for the light to turn green. “It’s not your fault, Alexey,” he muttered. “It’s better to abandon a ship than go down with it.”

He didn’t get an answer from him - not that he expected to: his jokes were bad, his friend was exhausted, he might as well stop trying. He decided that the only way to make the programmer forget about the collapse of his big old country was to go shopping; he made a stop at a strip mall to get some groceries and filled his trunk with things that Alexey might or might not need. It was about time this citizen of the Soviet Union learned how to drown his sorrow in consumerism, like the rest of the civilized world.

The next (and final) stop was a twelve-story building with a brick facade.  

“Okay,” said Henk turning off the engine. “Here are the keys to your apartment, it’s on the tenth floor, see?” He rolled down the window and jabbed a finger towards the sky. “And here is my home number, and also my office’s number and address.” He gave Alexey a piece of paper. “Call me whenever you’re ready. I’ll come and get you, give you a tour to your new working place and introduce you to the guys and girls. Just rest today, okay?”

Alexey, who hadn’t shot him a single glance since he had entered the car, released the safety belt and turned to face him. His alabaster cheeks, now pale and sunken in, were telling of sleepless nights and of days when food must have felt like cement in his stomach.

He gazed fixedly at his open palm where lied the keys and the note Henk had given him. Despite the black circles, his eyes sparkled with something that must have been lost to him for years.

Something that looked like hope.

Henk knew those weren’t Alexey’s feelings, those were his feelings. What his friend needed right now was not someone speculating about his emotional state but a nice hot shower and a big warm bed in order to process the fact that he would be living and working in the U.S. from now on.

“If you need anything, call me,” he offered.

Alexey sat still for a few seconds. “Call you?”

“Yeah, call me,” the American repeated, “the apartment comes with a landline, there’s no waiting list for that.” He twitched a cocky smile. “One of the many perks of having me as your boss: I know people who know people. It wasn’t so hard to find an affordable place where you can also call your family whenever you want, as long as you want. And don’t worry, the bill’s on me - for now.”

“Henk...”

The American held up a hand to stop him. “This is not a gift, I expect you to work hard.”

Alexey shook his head. “Henk, this is too much, I can’t—I mean--”

“Shush, enough. It’s done.”

A weak smile curled at the edge of Alexey’s lips. “Nobody has ever done this,” he confessed. “No one I know of.”

“I told you,” Henk wagged his finger warningly, a thin playful smile hovering on his lips, “I expect you to work your ass off.”

Alexey took a moment. His gaze, heavy with fatigue and gratitude, locked on Henk’s eyes. The American had seen that persistent look before, when they were having a toast to freedom just as the speakers were blasting out lyrics about an anxious journey towards a new, unknown destination. Maybe that unknown destination, that “Venus” would welcome them all, maybe they would burn before they reached the surface - it was too soon to tell.

Back then it was such a thrill to find a friend in this beautiful man, to realize that this genius of a software engineer wanted Henk as much as Henk wanted him. But now? This was not 1988, there was nothing in Alexey’s soft gaze that could be misinterpreted as yearning anymore; not even the fact that the Russian made a move to close the distance between them, reaching out to Henk like he would to someone who had just saved his life.

Henk backed himself into the corner of his seat. “A-Alexey...?” he said steadying his voice with effort.

The programmer stopped mere inches from Henk’s face.

“The suitcases,” Henk reminded him, “I-I’ll help you get them... and-and the grocery bags, don’t forget those--” He kept his hands in the air as if the programmer was pointing a gun at him, searching for things to keep them busy and as far from Alexey’s hair and neck as possible.

The hopeful glimpse in the programmer’s eyes faded so quickly that Henk wondered if it had ever been there at all.

Alexey backed off with a guilty, perplexed look.

He just wanted to give you a friendly hug, dude, not a fucking hand grenade, what’s the matter with you?  

Henk opened his mouth to apologize but it was too late: Alexey shook his head, his eyes heavy with regret, and stuck an arm between their seats to get his leather bag.

“Yes, I’ll get suitcases,” he said monotonously and opened the door. “And groceries.”

“Okay wait, I’ll help you.”

“Nye nada,” the mathematician cut him off.

Henk undid his seatbelt, jumped out of his seat, but by the time he reached the back of the car, the suitcases and shopping bags had been pulled out and placed on the pavement.

Alexey held out a hand. “Thanks for everything, Mister Rogers.”

Henk felt an angry sob choking him as he offered a limp hand to shake. “Let--let me help you with your stuff, you go and call the lift.” He made a move to grab the two handles but Alexey abruptly pulled the suitcases closer to him.

“I can do this,” he said icily. “You can go.”

“Alexey—listen... I just want you to know that—“

The Russian waved him off. “No need...” He held up the note with the phone numbers and the address. “You’ve told me everything. Let’s not burden each other anymore.” He turned his back on Henk and walked towards the entrance.

“But you’re not a burden...” Henk mewled.

Alexey didn’t answer; he had already disappeared into the lift.

The following morning, in the middle of a call with Howard Lincoln, Henk saw his secretary open the door, mouthing at him and pointing at something beyond the glass that separated his office from his employees’ cubicles. He was so stressed out by the latest news on the case against Atari that he thought the lawyers of Nintendo’s antagonist had barged into his headquarters, threatening to take his kids hostage.

He placed the receiver on his shoulder to cover the microphone. “Itsuko, what’s wrong?”

“Mister Pajitnov is here.”

He thrusted his head up. “What...?”

He peered through the glass and saw the bearded man shaking hands and smiling at Yoshi who had probably been appointed by Itsuko to introduce him to the others.

“He didn’t call me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t he call me? I told him I’d pick him up...”

He hastily ended the call with Nintendo’s chief legal counsel, smoothed down his hair and strode out of the office.

“Heeeyyyy, Alexey, what’s up???” He extended a hand, giving the man a hearty handshake. “You didn’t call me,” he added with a quizzical smile. “Didn’t I tell you I’d come pick you up?”

Alexey gave an unapologetic shrug. “There was no need, I took taxi.”

Henk placed his fists on his hips; he was dying to hear Alexey’s explanation on why he had ignored him.

The bearded man looked back at him squarely in the eye, arching his brows.

What?

This wasn’t the Alexey he had met yesterday. This was the Alexey who was tired of his fake-ass politeness and bullshit.

Henk clicked his tongue. “All right,” he said fixing him with his gaze. “Fair enough.” He gestured towards the far end of the office where he had put back (against his secretary’s advice) the espresso machine.

“Itsuko, will you show him to his cubicle, please? There’s coffee too, Alexey, if you want,” he said coldly as he turned his back on the blond man, pretending he was checking whether his employees were actually working or wasting precious time playing the games they had just purchased.

He expected some sort of reaction from Alexey, a protest, a question, anything, but the programmer was already making himself at home, beaming his brightest smile at Yoshi and everyone else around him (but especially at Yoshi who seemed to have captivated him with his easy charm and his ridiculous Beatles haircut), thanking Itsuko for the cup of coffee and opening his leather bag to get some floppy disks out.

Henk furrowed his brow: something was telling him that this was not the time to try breaking the ice. There were too many people swarming Alexey like moths to a flame, and although the man he had been dying to meet again was only meters away from him, there was a wall between them stronger than any Iron Curtain.

So much for helping him take that leap of faith. Alexey had already taken it, and he didn’t even need Henk for that.

Fuck that, you’re the boss here, act like one.

Henk filled his lungs with air and motioned towards Alexey’s seat, ready with a smart joke and a confident grin, but just as he approached the cubicle he saw Yoshi leaning against the Russian’s desk, fidgeting curiously with his Soviet floppy disks, smiling and chatting with him as if they had known each other for years.

Henk stopped in his tracks.

This is just—UGH.

Okay fine whatever, he had better things to do than pine for a guy who seemed to be sought out by everyone, even if he was the one who had helped that guy be the centre of attention now.

What-ever.

 Howard Lincoln was still waiting for him to return his call so he might as well do that, do his job. It’s not like he was expecting to be Alexey’s best buddy and his only friend in the world.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t expect to be Alexey’s anything.

February the 14th was getting closer. Henk spent the whole week flashing his brightest smile, listening to his employees’ problems with extra patience, sending gifts and flowers to their partners and ordering everyone’s favourite donut and pizza flavours.

As for Alexey, Henk did for him what every boss was expected to do: he showed him the ropes, explaining briefly what were the projects they were working on and pretending he was too busy to answer further questions while letting Yoshi do most of the training. Each time he leaned over Alexey’s shoulder to show him something in the monitor he made sure he didn’t let himself get intoxicated by his scent, and each time Alexey turned to ask a question, he blurted out a hasty answer and moved on to the next cubicle.

Whenever he got the chance, he would shut himself up in his office and call Gilman Louie under various pretexts, the most common one being “Let’s go surfing.”

“But it’s the middle of winter.”

“I don’t care”.

What he didn’t tell him was that he was feeling like shit, nor did he reveal the reasons why he was feeling like shit. All he said was that Alexey was giving off lonely vibes (which was a big fat lie), that he was probably feeling miserable without his family and that there should be something Henk could do about that, after all Alexey being in Seattle was his responsibility. What he didn’t tell Gilman was how much he needed this man, how he was dying to be his friend, his confidant, his eternal partner.

On the eve of Saint Valentine’s, Gilman (who had probably reached his wit’s end with Henk’s whining) invited him to his Spectrum HoloByte office.

“We could go to dinner together,” he suggested, pouring tea in Henk’s mug. “What does your boy like?”

“My boy?” Henk swallowed hard. “Umm... I don’t know... Russian cuisine...?”

Gilman looked at him in stunned silence.

He took a deep breath. “You’re not taking him to a Russian restaurant, dude, he is Russian, you think he doesn’t know what actual Russian food tastes like?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Henk despaired.

He placed his elbows on Gilman’s desk, his head dropping between his shoulders. “I have no idea where to take him, or what he likes...”

“Well, ask him!”

Henk dragged a hand down his face as if he’d been asked to wash the dishes at three in the morning. “I don’t wannaaaa...” he moaned, “why don’t you ask him? We’re going together, aren’t we?”

Gilman glared at him over the rim of his glasses. “Dude. I’m not his boss. You are.”

“So what? He likes you more. Didn’t you book a hotel room for him when he was in Hawaii? After we had those mai-tai’s he didn’t stay at my place, he went back to your hotel.”

Gilman stood there stone-still, gawking. “You’re not jealous, are you?” he said narrowing his eyes.

Henk turned a dreadful colour. “Of course not,” he snarled avoiding Gilman’s gaze.

“Then what do you mean he likes me more, what am I supposed to do with that information?”

“It-means-I-don’t-know-what-he-likes-Gil!!!” Henk lashed out.

“Well-I-don’t-know-what-he-likes-either!!!” the bespectacled man yelled back throwing his hands in the air. “Can’t be that hard to find something, sheesh!...”

Henk must have looked like he had just lost one million dollars because when the Chinese-American decided to open his mouth again, his voice was considerably softer.

“Look,” he said. “We’ll go to a place where the food tastes like capitalism, yeah?” He tucked his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “Now that’s the type of cuisine Alexey has never tried.”

“You mean like KFC? Do you think he’s gonna like it?”

“Sure,” Gilman nodded, “who doesn’t like KFC?”

“I don’t,” Henk shot back, “fried wings of tortured animals.” He made a vomiting sound. “Disgusting.”

“You’re American, you don’t count,” Gilman brushed him off. “Let’s do KFC. Is he in his apartment now?”

“Mmmmno,” Henk mumbled tiredly, massaging his forehead with both hands. “He’s probably at the office, working late.”

Gilman cocked a brow. “At this hour?”

“He likes the peace and quiet,” Henk explained. “In Moscow he always took night shifts just to be alone with the computer, and now he can’t shake the habit.”

A mischievous grin steadily broke across Gilman’s face. “Your boy is hard-working,” he teased, “you should take advantage of that...”

“He is not. My boy,” Henk said with some heat. “And I’m not taking advantage of anyone, I’m not that kind of boss.”

“Sure you’re not,” Gilman smothered a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s call your office.”

He picked up the phone and extended it to Henk, quiet amusement dancing in his eyes. “Are you gonna call him or me?”

The office was quiet.

There was no buzzing from the PC fans or the usual soft murmur coming from the Bullet-Proof employees. The place was dark except the cubicle at the far end of the room, the one that was close to the espresso machine and the arcade cabinets. The light from a desk lamp was illuminating the man’s hair giving it a strawberry blonde sheen, while the smoke from a cigarette that was slowly dying on the ashtray was forming a light blue halo around his handsome face.

Henk closed the door behind him as the keyboard’s feverish clicking reached his ears. He peered across the office to see if his unannounced arrival had disrupted anyone’s concentration but he saw no head perking up to greet him.

“Are you saving energy or something?” he quipped turning on the overhead lights. “You made me rich, I don’t have to worry about electricity bills anymore.”

Alexey chuckled bringing the cigarette to his lips, his eyes glued to the monitor. “No.” He took one long drag. “It just helps me focus more. No distractions.”

“There are hardly any distractions in here,” Henk gestured around the room, “everyone’s left.”

Alexey looked up at him, a little smile blooming on his lips. “I know. But still. I like the dark, it’s... warmer.”

Henk turned off the lights; if that’s what his Soviet boy wanted, they might as well have this conversation in the dark.

“Am I distracting you?” He walked over to Alexey, not sure if it was okay to talk about fast food when his own personal genius was working hard to pay him back. “Gilman said I should call you but I thought I’d just come pick you up.”

“Pick me up for what?”

“Dinner. You, me and Gil. We’re going to KFC, it’s fried chicken. I thought—we thought you might like it.”

“Nyet,” Alexey said with a shrug, “I’m busy, I’m working on new idea for Tetris.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

 “My mama always loved hats…” The programmer’s eyes drifted away as a tint of sadness played with the corners of his lips.  “So I was thinking… I was thinking of hats of different styles falling from top of screen, accumulating at bottom. To eliminate hats from play area, five hats of identical style should be stacked.”

“Oooh that sounds challenging,” Henk enthused, “and a departure from the original idea of Tetris.”

“Yes, it does,” Alexey cracked a proud smile.

“Can I have a look?”

“Kanyeshna,” the Russian nodded happily, moving his chair to make room for Henk to sit.

Henk glanced at the monitor: the design was beautiful, eye-catching, and the green and brown in the background were soothing to the eye. He saw stacks of colourful, oddly-shaped hats falling from the top of the screen and disappearing. There was no background music yet but Henk was already picking 8-bit chiptunes from the vast playlist of his mind that could suit this strange, beautiful game.  

Alexey showed him how to play and soon Henk was jumping on his chair like a kid, feeling like the first time he played Tetris at the Las Vegas Consumer Electronics Show almost three years ago. Once the wizard’s hat reached the top of the screen it was game over but that did nothing to diminish his enthusiasm. It was like the day he first cast eyes on those primitive parentheses pushed together to form the original Tetris blocks on Alexey’s Elektronika 60.

It was magic, it was Christmas. It was 1988 again.

He looked back at the man who had changed his life.

“Alexey...” He struggled to find the words. “I know I’ve been weird to you. That... thing... that happened in my car? I’m sorry I backed off like you were the creature from the black lagoon.” He huffed out an awkward titter. “I guess I thought you were going to kiss me or something, and I wasn’t sure--” He drew in one long breath. “I wasn’t sure if this is what you wanted after what happened that night in Hawaii...?”

He raised one inquisitive brow.

Alexey stared at him in baffled silence. “I was going to kiss you,” he deadpanned. “Russians do this, we kiss men and women on mouth as greeting, and as sign of brotherly love.”

“You do what...?”

“It’s not... erotic,” Alexey reassured him with a laugh. “It’s greeting. We do it all the time. Haven’t you seen new graffiti on Berlin Wall?”

“Berlin Wall?”

“Brezhnev and Honecker’s kiss,” Alexey explained.

“Ah,” Henk snapped his fingers. “Right. So that’s what this was...” he gave a slow nod. “O-kay.”

Henk’s heart sank in his chest but thankfully Alexey didn’t see his frown: something on the monitor had caught the programmer’s eye making him return to his keyboard.

“I mean,” Henk continued, unable to stop the river of words flowing out of his mouth, “we could be brothers, I guess. And try that fraternal kiss... again... if you like?”

Alexey looked up at him from the computer, an apologetic smile playing on his lips. “I need to finish this, Henk--” he waved at the screen.

“Yes, of course,” the American blurted out and sprang out of his chair, a flush of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. “Maybe another time.”

He patted Alexey’s shoulder, ready to get the fuck out of there before he made a fool of himself - again. “Don’t overwork yourself tonight, okay, buddy?”

Alexey clasped Henk’s hand before he could walk away. He looked up at him, a barely visible flame burning in the depth of his olive eyes.

“I guess I wasn’t clear,” he said calmly. “I need to finish this and then I’ll show you how we kiss in Russia.”

Henk held his breath for a beat.

Was this even real?

Alexey let out a laugh. “I won’t be long, don’t worry.”

He fiddled with the keyboard for a few minutes that dragged on like hours, puffing on his smoke, spitting a couple of frustrated blyat’s until his face softened as he was apparently getting closer to the solution that suited him. The solution he had been yearning for.

He turned off the computer, stubbed out his cigarette and rotated the chair to face his boss: Henk was just sitting there, holding his breath, his hands sweating on his knees.

“Come here...” said Alexey, his voice reduced to a honeyed whisper.

Henk’s exhaustion and disbelief were so overwhelming that he didn’t get up. He just dragged his feet to get the rolling chair closer to the Russian. He too was yearning to see this through. He wanted to finally learn “the Russian way”. He wanted.

Alexey palmed the man’s burning cheeks and searched his eyes, unblinking. Then, with the ease of someone who had done this all his life with friends, with family, with the women he had loved, he drew Henk’s face closer, pressing their lips together.

It lasted no more than a second but to Henk it was everything: he nestled in Alexey’s arms, motionless, his breath hitched, his eyelids clamped shut.

Alexey gave a short chuckle. “You can breathe now.”

Henk peeled open one eye. “That was it?

“Da,” Alexey laughed. “Unless you didn’t understand how it works and you need me to show you again?” he cooed.

“Show me again,” Henk demanded stretching his neck forward, “show me again, please, I’m a terrible student.”

“Are you, now?” the Russian scoffed.

 “Dude.” Henk opened his arms. “Didn’t ya know? I’m a university dropout.”

Alexey laughed, cupping his friend’s face once more to pull him against his chest. Henk fluttered his eyes shut, giving himself to a moment that was bound to be brief, relishing the soft brush of the man’s velvety beard on his chin and cheeks as if it was the last thing he’d ever feel. He almost jumped at the strength and wetness of a sleek tongue pushing through his lips, asking him for warmth and refuge. Despite the shock, he let the intruder slide through and seek his depth, claiming his tongue with soft laps.

The sweet torment lasted more than he had expected, his manhood filling out against his trousers each time Alexey sucked on his tongue a little harder. And even when it was over, the Russian’s lips remained fixed on his, grazing them, biting them, wanting them.

“That...” Henk breathed on Alexey’s mouth, “that was not a brotherly kiss, bro.”

A cheeky grin spread across the programmer’s face as he draped his arms around Henk and pulled their bodies together, pushing one knee between his thighs.

“No, it wasn’t,” he hummed giving Henk’s lower lip a playful lick.

“We can’t keep doing this...” Henk sighed, resting his forehead against Alexey’s.

“Pachemu nyet?”

“Because I’m so hard right now I could poke your eyes out.”

“How hard?” Alexey slid a hand between Henk’s legs. “Show me.” He squeezed, eliciting a sharp exhale from the other man’s lips.

Henk snaked his arms around Alexey’s waist and swiftly dragged him on top of him, almost punching the air out of him. “Hard enough to fuck you on each and every desk of this office,” he retorted bucking his hips up just to get a taste of the elusive ass that had evaded his cock for so long. “All twelve of them. All night.”

Alexey gave a short chuckle, loose hair caressing his forehead. “You think you can fuck my ass for that long, cowboy?” he said boldly as he let one hand slip where their bodies joined, loosening Henk’s buckle.

“I don’t think it,” Henk clapped back, “I know it.”

Alexey grabbed the belt with both hands and removed it with a single pull, releasing the buttons one by one until Henk’s tented briefs were hungrily poking out of his jeans. He then got on his feet turning his back on the American, steadied his hands on the chair’s arms and lowered his hips onto the man’s lap. He began to rub himself back and forth against Henk’s crotch, his ass torturing the hardening crown with slow calculated moves until Henk felt the dampness of precum staining his underwear.

Henk pulled his briefs down, his rod jutting up into the air. “Alexey?” he pleaded. “Lower your trousers, will ya?...”

The Russian pulled down his pants just enough to reveal a pair of delectable butt cheeks, soft and round and milky-white as if they’d never seen the sun. Henk held up his tip seeking out warmth, gasping as Alexey pulled the cheeks apart to accommodate his whole length.

The sensation was nothing short of intoxicating.

Henk took one shuddering breath, deciding that Alexey’s ass would work miracles were it given more space to manoeuvre. He reached underneath the seat to pull a lever, making the backrest of his chair recline: the entire roundness of Alexey’s ass was now more than available to him and it was begging to be ruined.

The Russian knew exactly how to taunt Henk’s glans, teasing it with circular moves, catching it between his cheeks, letting it go just as his boss tried to push further in.

“Fuck fuck fuuuuck,” Henk gasped, “what are you doing, Pajitnov?”

He grabbed Alexey’s hips to rock them back and forth on him, controlling their pace as if he owned them. “What are you doing, where did you learn those moves, huh?” he purred giving Alexey’s bum a good slap. “Do Russian universities have courses on lap dance too?” he breathed into the blond man’s sweater rubbing a finger near his hot centre.

Alexey let out a playful titter. “No, I learned them at... how do you say... strip club?”

Henk’s eyes started from their sockets, his finger reflexively pushing in just enough to make Alexey give a little pained yelp. “A what? When did you go to a strip club?”

“Uuuh-- when I came to visit you in Hawaii--mmm,” Alexey breathed out, riding Henk’s finger like it was a pony. “The day -oh- the day after I left your house, Gilman –blyat—said... uuugh.. He said... I didn’t... I didn’t look too happy and—mmm—he took me there. You should have seen—Bohze... You should have seen those exotic dancers, Henk, I’d never seen such beautiful--UGH!”

Another slap.

Henk dug his nails into Alexey’s bottom, leaving red marks. “Gilman, that Judas, he never told me he had taken you to a strip club,” he snarled, “a fucking strip club of all places--”

“I take it you like what I learned there?” Alexey sassed, making a full circle with his hips.

Henk could literally hear him grinning just as his swollen tip was being squeezed, feeling the unstoppable bubbling of premature ejaculation.

It was impossible to stay angry at his own personal genius for more than five seconds, especially when that sculpted tennis-trained bottom was working so hard to earn his forgiving cum.

“Uuuuh... right there.” Henk dipped his head back. “So good, so so good—mmm...” he rasped dragging a thirsty tongue over his lips.

The Russian spat on his hand and stroked it down his crack slicking it; he then used two fingers to stretch his asshole and rubbed himself against the length of the American’s rod with thrusts so quick that almost brought Henk to a sweet hasty end.

“Alexey, Alexey, stop, fuck, stop, I don’t wanna come like that,” Henk warned and softly pushed him away. “I want to come inside your hot ass, not all over it, can I properly fuck your ass now? Please?”

The Russian stood still, nodding his acceptance.

Henk staggered to his feet attempting to buckle his belt but the bulge between his legs wouldn’t let him. “Let’s move to a safer location, yeah?” he panted.

“I thought everyone had left, also you said something about twelve cubicles...?” Alexey challenged him.

Henk took a deep breath as he imagined hammering into Alexey until morning. “I don’t want to smash my valuable AS/400’s while I’m fucking you into next week,” he gestured around the room, “I made a serious investment getting those babies in here.”  

Alexey gave a soft giggle. “But you said I made you rich, you can afford to buy new ones.”

“Yes, but I want to get richer,” Henk shot back.

He grabbed Alexey by the hips, letting the programmer’s long legs wrap around his buttocks as he lifted him up.

“You’re a fucking goldmine, Pajitnov, and I intend to take advantage of you six ways from Sunday,” he murmured planting a kiss on the bearded man’s lips, “but without trashing my investment if possible.”

He pulled Alexey in for another kiss, inhaling his breath as the Russian’s moan vibrated around his tongue. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that one day he’d be holding the man he loved in his arms, the only man he had loved that way.

Alexey was taller and heavier than him. Although for a moment Henk felt his muscles give under the weight, he swiftly found his balance steadying the programmer’s back against what he thought to be a wall.

The “wall” turned out to be the one investment that didn’t belong in that office, and just as Henk pushed Alexey onto the flat surface, his teeth sinking into the softness of his neck, he heard a metallic “clang”: the espresso machine had fallen over, glass and coffee and red plastic pieces scattered all over the floor.

“Oh fuck me...”

Alexey busted out laughing.

“Uuuugh, don’t laugh,” Henk groaned burying his face in the crook of his neck, “Itsuko will never let me hear the end of it, she’s the one who insisted that the espresso machine belonged in the kitchen. Have you seen her face when she says ‘I told you so’? Not fun.”

“Can’t you buy identical espresso machine with the money I helped you make?...” Alexey said, a cocky grin spreading from ear to ear.

“Not a chance,” Henk shook his head. “The shops are closed and even I can’t get them to open before Itsuko comes tomorrow morning. I’m rich but not that rich.”

“Should I make you that rich right now?” Alexey smiled the words into his mouth. “Perhaps we should leave this for later and go back to my computer and iron out Hatris, hmm?” he added playfully trailing kisses down his lover’s neck.

“Like hell we should,” Henk shot back, digging his fingers into Alexey’s ribs to bring him down. “My office. Now.”

He got hold of the programmer’s wrist, dragged him past the cubicles and only stopped when the door of his office was closed behind them, knowing full well that privacy in a glass office was an illusion – or maybe the lack of it was another kink he would have to explore in the future, maybe with a certain Russian mathematician he knew.

He waved Alexey to the couch. “Take off only your pants and briefs,” he ordered letting the trousers fall around his ankles and kicking them off, his eyes raking over the programmer’s body.

“You don’t... want me to remove clothes, all of them?”

“No,” Henk gave a jerk of his chin as he loosened the tie and unbuttoned his shirt, “just your pants and briefs, c’mon. I want to feel like I’m fucking you while you’re working.”

Alexey unzipped the fly, lowered the waist line to his knees and shimmied his pants down, his eyes fixed on Henk’s dark gaze.

“Now kneel on the couch with your back on me,” Henk commanded spitting on his hand, “I’ll prep you.”

“Prep me?”

“I don’t want to be responsible for any work injuries in my office,” was Henk’s dry reply.

Alexey draped his arms around the couch’s back, his chin resting on his hands, his beautiful Slavic ass perked up in the air. Henk used both thumbs to stretch the hole that was gaping open at him, untouched and pure and ready to be savaged. He took Alexey’s sack in his palm, massaging it with his spit. He then bent down and stuck out his tongue to swirl it around the opening, teasing it with quick flicks until his little prods made low guttural moans come out of Alexey’s chest.

Apparently, this new employee of his didn’t mind some good ol’ rimming.

He licked his way to the crack from top to bottom, his drool running down Alexey’s perineum and onto the leather couch, before driving his tongue past the anus’ ring muscle, stretching it with each push, each bob of his head. Every time he felt the programmer’s body relax, he would plunge his tongue further in until Alexey was reduced to a begging mess.

“Henk... Pazhalusta...” the Russian sobbed.

“Please what?”

Alexey sat motionless, his chest rising and falling, his tongue tied, as if an honest answer to Henk’s question would make his world come crumbling down.

“T—Trakhny minia...” he whispered.

Henk crawled up to the man’s shoulder, his teeth grazing Alexey’s ear. “In English, Pajitnov...”

Alexey swallowed hard, his fingers squeezing the leather with each long breath.

A soft almost inaudible murmur escaped his lips. “Fuck me...”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, cowboy. Fuck me hard. Punish me.”

Henk’s cock gave a reflexive jerk: he had never seen Alexey so willing, so submissive. His Soviet boy was ready.

He left the couch and walked around his desk to unlock the lowest drawer, fumbling through folders, pencils and paperclips until he found the blue tube he was looking for, flicked the lid open and pressed it. He gave his cock a few good jerks coating it with the oily substance and walked up to the couch, lining himself with Alexey’s ass. He squeezed the tube again and let the transparent jelly trickle down the virgin slit.

He tossed the lubricant on the couch and nudged the first couple of inches into Alexey’s opening. It was heaven, it was his.

“Are you ready for me, Pajitnov?” he said hoarsely pulling out, his glistening tip rubbing up and down the hole, teasing it. “Are you ready to be bred by an American?”

“...Alyosha...” Alexey panted out.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t forget, call me Alyosha when you fuck me.”

Henk wrapped an arm around the Russian’s shoulders to steady himself, nestling his jaw into his neck.

He planted a kiss behind Alexey’s ear. “Alyosha,” he breathed. “My Alyosha.”

He pushed hard and fast and without mercy, grunting like an animal as he bottomed out into his hot new investment. The walls of Alexey’s anus were so tense and unprepared that he almost came.

“ARGH!” Alexey’s core spasmed with pain around his boss’s entire cock.

Henk thought momentarily that he should have warned him.

Or not.

He bucked his hips forward again, putting all his strength into push after savage push.

“AH-AH-AAAH!---”

Alexey’s shocked cries were filling his whole being.

Henk could feel on his ribs the man’s effort to breathe between thrusts but each time his employee tried to resist, he would tighten his grip and drive himself even deeper.

“Don’t. Move.”

“Mmm,” Alexey grunted, “you are too big, Henk, ugh, I don’t think I can--”

Henk pushed the blond head down, pressing it against the couch.

“Shhhh...”

He would teach this new addition to his staff how to behave during and after office hours, how to shut up and take it, and only talk when begging to be filled with his boss’ seed, his cum, his thick, all-American cream.

“You’d better behave if you really want that work visa.” He grabbed the powerless man’s wrist and pulled it behind his back, immobilizing him. “I told you not to move - FUCK--”

“I’ll do anything,” Alexey panted, “anyth--UGH!!!”

Pressing the programmer’s wrist just above his ass cheeks, Henk hammered into him with quick slams, spearing himself deeper into Alexey’s colon until the man was giving out helpless cries, his flustered face buried into the couch’s leather, his eyes filled with tears. Henk pulled him by the shoulder, lifting his head up just enough to cup his mouth, muffling the uncontrollable, horny sounds that came out of it.

“Shhh, there might be other hard-working employees like you on this floor, working late hours.”

Alexey nodded his compliance, opening his mouth just enough to let Henk’s finger slip in and get a taste of his eager tongue.

“Do you like it?...” Henk groaned. “Do you like my cock squeezed inside you, Alyosha?...”

“Pull my hair...” Alexey mumbled.

“Huh?”

“Pull my hair.”

Henk guffawed. “My new employee likes it rough, huh?” he smiled and grabbed a fistful of golden hair, making Alexey give a pained grunt as he hammered into him with merciless thrusts. “You like it rough, Lyosha, huh? You want to know what it’s like to have your snow-white ass punished, baby boy?”

“I left my country -ugh- I deserve it--” said Alexey between pants.

“What you deserve is to get American cum pumped into that Soviet hole of yours.”

“I want to ride your dick,” growled Alexey as he backed up on him again and again.

He grabbed Henk’s ass and pulled, a clear sign that his slit needed more cock.

Henk was desperate for release and pretended not to hear him, but Alexey stopped moving.

“No more,” he said. “My turn.”

Henk knew better than scare away Alexey again. He pulled out softly, careful not to let the condom slide off. Before he knew it, the Russian was pushing him against the couch and grasping the K-Y tube; he squeezed a good portion coating both his palms, wrapped one hand around Henk’s erection and lubricated his crack with the other.

Henk spread his legs open, his eyes devouring Alexey’s face as the Russian slowly sank on his lap, letting the cock sheathe into him with each careful nudge of his hips.

Henk drew in one shaky breath: the tightness was squeezing his manhood with all the kindness and the warmth and the forgiveness that had ever existed in this life and the next.

“Oh fuck, you’re so good, so good.”

He let his eyes flutter close, his fingers digging into Alexey’s hips. One more nudge and his cock was fully engulfed by Alexey’s core as the latter began a seductive dance with only his waist moving back and forth, taking in Henk’s whole length with each slow circle of his hips.

“You’re killing me...” Henk rasped, head rolling back as he wiggled his hips into the cushions to let Alexey’s bottom get a feel of his bursting testicles too.

“Yes?” said Alexey. “You want me to move quicker?”

Henk nodded, gulping down hard.

Alexey picked up the pace and Henk felt the air leaving his lungs in one sharp exhale.

He was getting his dick pumped so fast that he had forgotten he was in his office, his moans getting louder by the second.

He perked his head up just enough to see his glistening rod getting in and out of Alexey’s hole with frenetic speed as the sound of skin smacking against skin was filling the room.

The Russian’s balls were literally bouncing on Henk’s stomach as he jumped up and down with such eagerness that he had his boss gasping for air.

“You’re fucking wrapping your hole around my entire cock, you’re gonna take even my balls—fuuuuck--”

As if Alexey knew that Henk was about to come, he immediately slowed down and went back to rotating his hips so torturously slow, as if he wanted Henk to feel every inch of his walls.

 “That’s right, keep fucking yourself on my dick,” commanded Henk, “do it.”

He realized he could hardly feel Alexey’s hardness anymore as it jumped loosely on his belly, limp and neglected.

“Your cock needs more love,” he smiled, “let me work it for you.”

He took the lubricant, spread some on his palm and wrapped his fingers around the shaft. Alexey stood still for a moment, obviously entranced by Henk’s slow moves, by the slick fingers that massaged his sack, the thumb drawing circles on his frenulum.

“Now don’t go lazy on me just because you love me jacking you off,” teased Henk, “c’mon, milk that cock.”

As if Henk had pushed a button, Alexey began to fuck himself on his dick like a well-oiled machine. Their bodies, dripping sweat with every thrust, were moving in perfect unison until Alexey began to move so fast that Henk almost forgot to stroke him.

Suddenly Henk saw the Russian’s face spasm, his beautiful bearded jaw slacking open, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Henk?...” choked Alexey, “I’m coming—“

“That’s it,” Henk urged stroking him faster, harder, squeezing and jerking and working his cock like his life depended on it, “let me see that load, baby, show Daddy your load.”

He grabbed his hips to hold him still and viciously fucked up into him.

slap slap slap

 “C’mon, c’monnn.”

“I’m com-- UGH...”

Alexey’s face was a picture of ecstasy as Henk hammered into him like there was no tomorrow, his cherry lips forming a perfect, moaning O as he was brought to a shaking orgasm, his honey-brown eyes sliding shut, his muscles clamping down on Henk’s cock as his own penis squirted out his entire release in forceful spurts.  

“AAAAAAAAAH—“

“That’s my boy, fuck, give me all your load, baby.”

“Uuuuh... Bhoze moy...”

Alexey let his head drop, golden strands of hair listlessly brushing over Henk’s chest, as the final spurts of cum trickled down his lover’s belly.

Henk wondered if this was the right time to start pounding into him again, if Alexey had enough breath to finish him off too, but this industrious ex-citizen of the Soviet Union didn’t need to be asked: his hips picked up where they had left off, jumping up and down Henk’s lap until the wind was knocked out of him.

He could feel Alexey’s searing hot entrance taking him all in, releasing him, then swallowing him again at such speed that it was impossible to resist him.

He tried pushing Alexey’s chest because it was all too much, too quick; he wanted to spend the whole night inside of him if he could, fuck him in every single cubicle and forget about work tomorrow.

“Not yet, I don’t want to come just ye— F U C K!“

Alexey had already reached down and was gently rubbing both his nipples, teasing them, making circles with his thumbs until Henk’s balls were bursting with seed.

Henk arched his back one last time: one desperate cry, one more breath and—

“You’re tight, baby, you’re so ti-UUUUH.”

He came so hard he could see stars.

The world stood still for a second, the breath caught in his throat, pleasure rippling through his body as the office walls and the Ohara Koson print on them disappeared, and the hats made of pixels were swept away by an enormous wave that took over his being, his life, his everything. It was all too much, too little, because now he had seen beyond the gates of Heaven and he couldn’t go back, Heaven was here on Earth, Heaven was his, and he wasn’t even religious so why the fuck was he seeing angels with trumpets blasting out that Khrushchev was wrong about the existence of God, fuck off, Nikita, you know nothing.

It took him a few moments to realize that Alexey had leaned over him brushing soft lips against his temple, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. In Russian.

“One day you have to teach me that fucking language of yours, Alyosha,” he grumbled, “I want to know what you’re saying to me when I’m inside your ass.”

“No, you don’t,” Alexey snickered. “It’s too sappy.”

Henk cocked his head. “Sappy? I’m all about sappy. Sappy is my second name. Come on.”

With a smile he couldn’t hide, the Russian planted a quick kiss on his lips and got up to pick his briefs and trousers from the floor.

Henk, sweat still rolling down his face and chest, opened his arms. “What? No second round?”

Alexey tucked himself back into his pants and did up his belt. “I need to finish Hatris, Henk. No more distractions.”

“What?!” the American protested. “Come ooooon. This is your boss talking. And your boss is ordering you to take the rest of the night off.”

Alexey shook his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips that were still red from all the kisses they had shared. “You’re the biggest distraction of them all, Henk.”

Henk wagged a finger at him. “Uh-huh. You’re not getting away with a compliment about my dick. You sure you’re not hungry?”

Alexey let his head drop with a defeated sigh. “I’m hungry like wolf.”

Henk clapped his hands. “Then we’re off to KFC,” he yelped and sprang to his feet. “Gil is waiting.”

“Gil?...” Alexey buried his face in his hands. “You haven’t told Gilman about us, have you?”

“Gil doesn’t have to be told,” Henk quipped as he put on his trousers and buttoned his shirt. “Gil knows.”

The Russian’s face turned a dreadful colour.

Henk walked up to him and helped him with the tie. “You don’t have to worry,” he said fixing his eyes on Alexey’s. “You’re in America now. Besides Gil has been offered to work for the C.I.A. Even his secrets have secrets, know what I mean? He knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

Alexey’s brow furrowed with thought. “What about—“ he stuttered, “what about Nina? I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t know what to do, what to tell her. I can’t leave my family behind.” He raised his eyes to meet Henk’s. “And I can’t leave you either.”

Henk didn’t know what to say; from now on there were no easy solutions for them, no “angel” tetrominoes to fall into straight wells.

“I would never ask you to leave your family behind,” he stated, his voice breaking as he thought of Maya’s big brown eyes. “That’s why—that’s why I felt like shit all these months after what happened in Hawaii. I’m sorry I pushed you to do something you didn’t want.”

Alexey shook his head, his eyes glued to the floor, unable to meet Henk’s. “You did nothing wrong. I was there too. I know exactly what I did, and how much I wanted it to happen. It’s just...” He took a deep breath. “Things aren’t ready to happen before they’re ready to happen, panimayesh? I would have to go back to Moscow eventually. I’d have to pretend everything was okay. It was not okay. It still isn’t. But at least now we are not oceans apart.”

Once again, Henk remembered the stag on the wall: maybe that beautiful painted creature didn’t have to jump over the gaping chasm. Maybe there was another way.

He placed both hands on Alexey’s shoulders, his breath flowing into the fulness of his lungs. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He patted him on the back. “C’mon.”

They walked together through the glass door and past the cubicles. As Henk pulled the keys out of his pocket, he stepped on a red piece of plastic that broke into even smaller splinters.

“Oh man…” he moaned. “That’s one problem though that we have to deal with right now. What am I gonna tell Itsuko? She’ll be furious.”

“You can tell her ‘Mister Pajitnov didn’t like its red colour’”, said Alexey as a wicked grin broke across his face. “Too Soviet.”