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NIKOLAI IS LOOKING at me strangely. I think I'm having a dream. There's stacks and stacks of paperwork in front of him, but he doesn't even acknowledge them, even as there's a quill in his hand.
"Do you hate me?" he asks.
I am frozen, utterly confused as of why he is asking me such an unthinkable question. I think the question makes me realize this isn't a memory, because the real Nikolai would never ask me such a thing.
"No," I say, but he doesn't look convinced.
Nikolai gets up from his seat, and for some reason I take an involuntary step back. His eyes flicker, a sign the movement has not gone unnoticed. His writing utensil is set down and he goes around his desk as my legs keep moving of their own accord.
It's like a little synchronized dance we do. Where I am matching his every step forward with a step away. Until my back hits the wooden doors and I cannot go further.
Nikolai stops right in front of me. It's hard to avoid his hardened gaze. "You always deny everything so easily."
Maybe he's right, so I stay silent.
My breath hitches as he seems to get even closer, his head tilting to the side. "If you do not hate me, then what is it? What makes you back away?" His breath ghosts across my lips. "Are you afraid of me?"
"Why would I be afraid of you?" I say, trying the flutter out of my voice, to keep sounding unaffected. "You're my best—''
"I know," he says almost frustratedly. "What exactly are you afraid of then? Tell me why you always cut the bridges I so meticulously build toward you. Why you can barely look me in the eye when I'm close like I am now. Tell me why whenever I reach out, you flinch away."
