#lemien

today, alex seems to be in an especially cheerful mood. he’s bobbing his head to his music as he waits in queue, grinning from time to time as he scrolls through his twitch chat window. he suddenly lets out a loud laugh, then turns to nicklas.

“come here for sec, backy,” alex says, waving nicklas over. there’s a glint in his eye that nicklas has come to associate with shaving cream pranks and the shrill sound of the smoke alarm.

nicklas folds his arms across his chest, but doesn’t make any move to roll his chair closer. “why?”

“just come,” alex insists, and he tugs on the armrest of nicklas’s chair, dragging him closer. “the fans wanna see your face.”

“it’s your stream; why do they want to see my face?” 

“’cause you have cute face,” alex says with a wide smile. “cutest face in the world.”

nicklas is used to alex’s teasing by now, but he still can’t help the heat that rises to his cheeks as alex pulls him close enough that he’s in the frame. he can see his own face staring back at him in the face cam at the bottom of alex’s screen, and he’s grateful that alex’s webcam is too shitty to pick up the full redness of his cheeks.

alex turns back to face his screen. he wraps his fingers around nicklas’s wrist, lifting it and waving it at the camera. “okay i got him. backy, say hi to the fans.”

“hello,” nicklas says quietly. alex doesn’t let go of his hand and nicklas resigns himself to whatever shenanigans alex is about to pull. 

“the fans ask what russian words you know how to say,” alex explains. “so i thought i just ask you to show them.”

nicklas’s russian is limited to the few game-related terms that sasha had taught him out of necessity, back when they were still using pings to get around the language barrier, and a handful of curse words that he’s picked up just by virtue of sitting beside alex all the time, none of which nicklas was willing to repeat on stream.

“uh, i know drakon - that’s ‘dragon’ - and lomayte bashnyu - which is ‘push turret’, i think” nicklas says eventually, cringing at his clunky accent.

“game words are so boring, nicky. what other words you know?” alex presses.

there’s one other phrase that nicklas does remember, one that alex used to say to him after a win or a few dozen shots. it was back when sergei was still around and he had smiled when nicklas had asked him for a translation.

“ya obozhayu tebya,” nicklas says carefully, and glances over at alex to gauge his reaction. something flashes across alex’s features, but it’s quickly replaced by a broad smile.

“not bad, backy. soon you can start shotcalling in russian, hm?” alex says, his eyes still dancing with amusement.