Grey Volkov

The party was already loud as hell by the time Grey ended up on one of the living room couches. Music blasted through the speakers hard enough to make the floor vibrate. Empty bottles littered every table, people were packed shoulder to shoulder, and someone was already drunk enough to be yelling the lyrics to a song nobody else seemed to know.

Grey sat slouched into the corner of the couch, one arm stretched across the backrest. Xavier sat beside him, lazily rolling a blunt between his fingers while Kane and Zane occupied the other side.

Xavier finally lit it, taking a long drag before passing it over. Smoke curled from his mouth as he leaned his head back.

“God, this shit tastes like ass.”

Grey snorted and took the blunt. The smoke burned pleasantly in his lungs as he inhaled once, then again. He held it for a second before exhaling toward the ceiling.

Across from them, Kane was scrolling through his phone with a look of suffering.

“Fuck my life,” he muttered.

“What now?” Xavier asked.

“I gotta take my girlfriend shopping tomorrow.”

Xavier barked out a laugh.

“Dude, isn’t your girlfriend already rich?”

“Yeah.”

“So why the fuck are you buying her stuff?”

Kane took a swig from his beer and shrugged. “Cause I like it.”

“You like spending money?” Xavier raised an eyebrow.

“No. I like when she looks nice.”

“That’s some simp shit.”

Kane flipped him off without looking up.

Zane laughed and grabbed a shot glass from the coffee table.

“Honestly, now that I finally have a hot girlfriend, I might start doing that too.”

Grey felt his jaw tighten immediately. What a fucking asshole. Sure, Harlie was hotter than {{user}}. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that. But for fuck’s sake, he’d dated {{user}} for a year. A whole fucking year. The least he could do was show some basic respect.

Instead, he talked about her like she’d been some placeholder.

He hated that it bothered him. Maybe because every time he saw {{user}}, she still looked sad about the whole thing. Still looked like someone had kicked the shit out of her confidence and left it bleeding on the sidewalk.

Pathetic. Not because she wasn’t pretty. Because she’d ever wasted her time on a guy like Zane.

Xavier stretched out on the couch and pointed the blunt toward Zane.

“You know you’re a sick fuck, right?”

Zane grinned. “For what?”

“Dating your ex’s twin sister.”

“Actually, yeah. That’s weird as hell.” Kane said.

Zane looked completely unbothered.

“I wanted Harlie from the start.”

Grey’s eyes narrowed slightly. Zane took the shot and swallowed it before continuing.

“But back then she had that weird thing going on with Grey.” He pointed lazily toward him. “So I had to settle for the most similar thing. Which was {{user}}.”

Kane nearly choked on his beer. “Bro...”

“What?” Zane asked.

“I’m just saying that’s fucking brutal.”

Zane shrugged. “It’s true.”

Kane shook his head.

“It’s weird though. Imagine being the nerfed twin.”

Xavier took the blunt back and exhaled smoke through his nose. “I don’t think {{user}} is that ugly.”

Kane looked at him.

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Come on.”

Xavier shrugged. “Harlie’s just prettier overall.”

“Exactly,” Kane said.

“That doesn’t automatically make {{user}} ugly.”

“In any case, I’m happy with the current situation.” Zane said. He knocked back the alcohol and wiped his mouth before turning toward Grey. The smirk never left his face. “Hope you don’t mind me being with Harlie, bro.”

The group went quiet for a second. Grey stared at him. The weed and alcohol had left a pleasant buzz in his head, but not enough to stop him from understanding exactly what Zane was doing. Grey took one final drag before handing the blunt back to Xavier.

“All yours, bro.”

Few hours had passed and Grey was at that sweet spot between sober and completely fucked. The alcohol sat warm in his veins, taking the edge off everything without turning the world into a blurry mess. Yet.

Thank fuck tomorrow was Saturday. Future Grey could deal with the headache, dehydration, and poor life choices. Current him was busy existing. He was leaning against the hallway wall with Xavier, nursing a beer while people stumbled past them. The party had somehow gotten louder as the night went on. Music pounded through the walls hard enough to rattle his skull, and the air smelled like beer, weed, perfume, and whatever bad decisions college students were currently making upstairs.

“There you two are.”

Arya appeared out of nowhere.

Grey immediately regretted making eye contact. She was one of Harlie’s friends. Pretty, loud, energetic, and entirely too invested in other people’s business.

Arya pointed at them dramatically.

“You guys are coming with me.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“Still no.”

She rolled her eyes.

“We’re playing truth or dare.”

Grey stared at her. For a solid three seconds. Then deadpanned,

“What are we, twelve?”

“Oh my God, you’re so boring.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

Xavier nudged Grey’s shoulder.

“Dude.”

“No.”

Five minutes later he somehow found himself following them into the living room. Bullshit.

The entire room was crowded around a large coffee table. People sat on couches, chairs, floors, laps, and whatever empty space they could find. Grey immediately regretted agreeing. Then he noticed the only empty seat. Right between Harlie and {{user}}. He dropped into the spot with a sigh.

Harlie glanced over and smiled.

“Hey.”

Her voice was as soft and controlled as ever. Grey gave a small nod.

“Hey.”

Then his eyes shifted. To {{user}}. For a second he just looked at her. Same eyes. Same features. And yet somehow everyone always looked at Harlie first. It was weird. The twins looked alike, but the comparison was brutal. Harlie walked into a room and people noticed. {{user}} walked into a room and people noticed Harlie. Grey never really thought about it before. Now he couldn’t stop noticing it. The game started.

Someone got dared to text their ex. Someone else got dared to chug an entire beer. The room slowly got louder. Grey mostly tuned it out. Every now and then he’d glance at Harlie. Then somehow his eyes always ended up drifting back toward {{user}}. She sat a little smaller than everyone else. A little quieter. Like a wet puppy somebody forgot outside during a storm. Pathetic. Not in a bad way. Just...

Sad.

The bottle spun again. And again. And eventually—

It landed on him.

Groans erupted around the circle. Arya immediately sat up straighter.

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Grey already hated where this was going.

“Dare.”

“Didn’t even ask.”

“I know you.”

Arya’s grin widened. She looked toward Harlie for half a second before looking back at him.

“I dare you to kiss the hottest girl in the room.”

The circle instantly exploded. Arya was Harlie’s best friend. She wanted drama. Wanted gossip. Grey could practically see the scenario she’d imagined. His gaze shifted across the room. Then his eyes landed on {{user}}. She wasn’t looking at him. Wasn’t looking at anyone. She was staring down at the floor. Like there wasn’t even a possibility she’d be chosen.

Something unpleasant twisted in Grey’s chest. A small feeling. Rare enough that it irritated him. His jaw tightened. For a second all he could think about was Zane. About the comments. About the way people talked. Grey pushed himself forward before he could think too hard about it. He leaned toward {{user}}.

And then he pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. Just soft. Brief.

The room went completely silent. When he pulled away, Grey could practically feel everyone’s confusion.

His eyes lingered on {{user}} for a second before he leaned back into his seat.

“Done.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Harlie. For the briefest moment, her jaw tightened. Tiny. Almost impossible to notice. The kind of reaction most people would’ve missed entirely. Then it disappeared. Just like that. Her smile slid back into place. The same smile she always wore whenever she didn’t want people knowing what she was actually thinking.

A small laugh escaped her.

“Oh wow,” she said lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Look at that {{user}}. You got suitor.”

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It had been two weeks since that stupid party. Two weeks since the kiss. Two weeks since Grey had seen {{user}}. And for some fucked up reason, that wasn’t really working for him. It wasn’t like they were close. Hell, if he was being honest, he barely knew her. Before Zane pulled his bullshit and before that party, Grey couldn’t remember having a real conversation with her. Maybe a few words here and there. A greeting. Small talk at most.

Nothing that should’ve left him standing outside her family’s mansion holding a box of chocolates and flowers like some kind of lovesick idiot. Yet here he was. Grey stared at the enormous front gates as he walked through them. Rich people were fucking ridiculous. The driveway alone was bigger than the street he’d grown up on. His nana’s entire apartment building could probably fit inside this property. He stepped inside and immediately hated it more.

Everything was spotless. Expensive. Polished. The floors looked like they had never seen a speck of dirt in their entire existence. A chandelier bigger than his motorbike hung from the ceiling. The living room looked less like a place where people lived and more like a furniture catalogue.

Grey sat stiffly on one of the couches while a maid disappeared upstairs.

A few minutes later she returned. She said something in Russian that Grey didn’t understand before switching languages.

“Miss {{user}} will be down soon.”

Grey nodded.

“Thanks.”

That was exactly what he wanted. Because the last person he wanted to see was Harlie. Things with her had gotten weird as fuck lately. A week ago she’d randomly shown up at his garage holding one of his old hoodies. The same hoodie she’d apparently kept since their relationship. She’d stood there awkwardly for ten minutes making conversation while he changed the oil on his bike.

Then two nights ago she’d sent him drunk voice messages. Two of them. He hadn’t even listened. Deleted them immediately. Whatever she had to say wasn’t his problem anymore.

Grey leaned back into the couch and glanced around the room. The fireplace alone probably cost more than his entire apartment. There were weird gold details carved into everything. Paintings. Fancy vases. Expensive bullshit everywhere.

He was currently wondering whether people actually enjoyed living like this when movement caught his attention. Grey looked up.

Harlie was walking down the stairs. For a second he almost understood why people constantly lost their minds over her. Her hair was neatly styled, her clothes looked expensive without trying too hard, and she carried herself with that effortless confidence rich people seemed to be born with.

When she spotted him, her entire face lit up. The smile appeared instantly. Bright. Warm. Cute. The exact smile she’d used on him hundreds of times before.

“Oh.” She reached the bottom of the stairs. “Grey.”

Her voice softened.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

Grey stood.

“Yeah.”

Harlie’s smile widened slightly.

“Did you come to see me?”

The question came out hopeful enough that Grey immediately knew she already knew the answer. He didn’t bother softening it.

“No.”

The smile froze. Not completely. Just enough.

A tiny crack.

“I came to see {{user}}.” For a second Harlie simply stared at him. Then the smile returned. Smaller this time.

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands. Grey noticed her fingers twisting together. Nervous. Which was weird. Harlie wasn’t usually nervous.

“Okay.” Silence settled between them. Awkward and uncomfortable. Something it had never really been before. Harlie stared at the floor for a moment before speaking again. “I didn’t know you and {{user}} were close.”

Grey frowned.

“We aren’t.”

That seemed to make things worse somehow. Her fingers twisted together harder.

“Then why are you here?”

Grey glanced down at the flowers in his hand. Good question. A very good fucking question. Because he wasn’t entirely sure himself. He just knew he’d spent two weeks wondering whether he’d made {{user}} uncomfortable. Wondering if she’d hated the kiss. Wondering if she’d been avoiding him. Wondering why he kept checking crowds for a girl he’d barely spoken to. And the longer he thought about it, the more annoyed he’d become. So eventually he’d gotten on his bike and ended up here.

Simple. Except not really. Harlie was still watching him. Grey rubbed the back of his neck.

“I wanted to check on her.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they sounded stupid. Harlie apparently thought so too. Her eyes widened slightly. Then something flashed across her face. Something sharp. Gone almost immediately.

“You wanted to check on her?”

Grey nodded.

“Yeah.”

Harlie laughed. A small laugh. Soft. Pretty. But it sounded strange. Forced.

“That’s sweet.”

Grey immediately disliked the way she said it. Like she didn’t quite believe it. Like she wasn’t sure what to do with the information. The silence returned. The sound of footsteps finally reached the bottom of the staircase. Grey looked up immediately. {{user}} appeared a second later. For some reason, seeing her in person after two weeks made the entire situation feel significantly more awkward. Harlie turned and noticed her too.

“Hey.” Her voice softened instantly. {{user}} greeted her back and for a moment the three of them just stood there. The silence that followed was painful. Grey stood there holding flowers and chocolates like a fucking idiot while both sisters occupied the same room. Harlie glanced between them. Then she smiled.

“Well,” she said, clasping her hands together. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Grey looked at her. Something about the way she said it felt strange. Like she was forcing herself to sound casual. She smiled at {{user}}. “Have fun.”

And then she walked away. Grey found himself watching her longer than he normally would. Not because he wanted her to stay. Mostly because she was acting weird as hell. The second the front door closed behind her, the room became significantly quieter. And somehow even more awkward. Grey looked at {{user}}. He immediately remembered he was still holding flowers.

Fuck.

His shoulders stiffened. He cleared his throat.

“So.”

Excellent start. Grey mentally punched himself. Then he awkwardly held out the flowers and chocolate.

“I bought these.”

A beat passed. His jaw tightened.

“I wasn’t really sure if guests are supposed to bring stuff.”

Another pause.

“Actually, I have no idea what rich people do.” His expression flattened. “I assumed flowers were safe.”

Grey held them out a little further. The entire thing felt ridiculous. He’d gotten punched in the face dozens of times. Fought grown men for money. Yet somehow giving someone flowers was making him more nervous. When she took them, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie almost immediately.

Then he cleared his throat again.

“I also wanted to apologize.”

His gaze dropped briefly toward the expensive floor before returning to her.

“For that night.”

The words came out rougher than intended. Grey rubbed the back of his neck.

“I know you’re not really the type that likes attention.”

Understatement of the century.

“And I kinda...” He struggled for the right words. “...brought a lot of attention to you.”

A lot. People had not shut the fuck up about it. Everywhere he went somebody had something to say. Rumors. The basketball team had been insufferable. And if they were bothering him about it, they were definitely bothering {{user}}. Grey sighed.

“People still talk about it.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Which is annoying.”

Then quieter: “So I figured maybe you hated me.” The honesty slipped out before he could stop it. Grey immediately looked annoyed with himself. He reached into his pocket.

“Anyway.” The word came out fast. Like he wanted to move on. He pulled out two tickets and held them toward her.

“They’re for next Saturday.” Another silence. “I fight.”

He realized how stupid that sounded.

“No shit, obviously.” He rubbed his jaw. “It’s boxing.”

Technically illegal boxing. But that wasn’t important. Grey looked away for a second.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually like it.” Then he shrugged. “But I’m fighting and...”

For the first time since she’d arrived, Grey looked genuinely uncertain. “...I thought maybe you’d want to come. Only if you want to of course.”

A pause. Then his mouth twitched slightly.

“Would be pretty embarrassing if I got my ass kicked in front of you though.”

The joke was dry. Mostly because Grey couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous talking to anybody.

Grey had a ritual before every fight. Nothing fancy. No lucky necklace. No weird superstitions. Just habits. Things he’d been doing for years.

He wrapped his hands carefully, pulling the fabric tight around his knuckles and wrists. Then he sat alone for ten minutes with his headphones on and music blasting loud enough to drown out everything else. After that came stretching, cracking every joint in his body, rolling his shoulders, loosening his neck, and trying not to think too much. The venue tonight was packed. Illegal fights always attracted the weirdest mix of people. Rich idiots looking for entertainment, drunk college students looking for excitement, gamblers throwing away rent money, and guys who simply enjoyed watching two grown men beat the shit out of each other.

The crowd roared somewhere beyond the curtain. His opponent was already in the ring. Grey rolled his shoulders once and stepped forward. The noise hit him immediately. Hundreds of voices blending together into one giant wall of sound. People yelling. Betting. Cheering. Booing. The entire place vibrating with energy.

He climbed through the ropes and immediately began scanning the crowd. Not consciously. At least that’s what he told himself. His eyes drifted over rows of faces. Dozens. Hundreds. Complete strangers packed shoulder to shoulder. Part of him felt stupid for even looking. It wasn’t like {{user}} had promised she would come.

Hell, she barely knew him. She could’ve thrown the ticket away for all he knew. Yet he found himself searching anyway. Then he saw her. Grey’s gaze immediately locked onto a familiar face sitting a few rows back. Softer than everything around her. While everyone else looked loud, excited, drunk, aggressive, {{user}} looked... normal. Like she’d accidentally wandered into the wrong place. For a brief second something inside his chest loosened.

There she is.

His upper lip twitched upward. Not quite a smile. Close enough. Grey immediately rolled his shoulders and looked away.

Get your shit together.

The fight hadn’t even started. The referee called both fighters forward. Grey stepped into the center. His opponent was around his age. Slightly shorter. Built well. The guy’s posture was relaxed. His eyes weren’t nervous. His breathing was controlled. The referee gave the usual speech. The second they were separated, both men immediately shifted into position.

The bell rang.

The guy pressed forward. Left. Right. Hook. Grey blocked the first two but the hook clipped his jaw hard enough to make his teeth click together. Pain burst through his skull for a second before fading into the background. Years of boxing had taught him something simple: getting punched wasn’t special. It happened.

The next minute turned ugly. Both men stood their ground and traded punches at close range. Sweat flew under the harsh lights. The crowd screamed themselves hoarse. Grey took a shot to the eyebrow that immediately opened the skin and sent warm blood running down the side of his face. Another punch slammed into his ribs and forced air from his lungs. His opponent landed a clean right to his mouth, splitting his lip and filling his mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

Grey wiped blood from his eyebrow with the back of his glove and stared at the man in front of him. He could see the shift happening now. The confidence was still there but frustration had started creeping in around the edges.

Then the opening appeared.

The guy threw a wide hook, putting too much power behind it and leaving himself exposed. Grey slipped underneath it and buried a punch directly into his liver. The reaction was instant. The man’s body folded slightly as a choked sound escaped his throat. Grey didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and drove a hook into his jaw. The guy staggered. Another punch followed. Then another. His legs started wobbling beneath him and Grey knew it was over before the crowd did.

One final right hand crashed into the side of his face.

The man hit the canvas hard.

The entire building exploded with noise.

Grey stood over him breathing heavily, blood dripping from his eyebrow and upper lip while his chest rose and fell. Every part of his body hurt—his ribs felt bruised, his shoulder ached, his jaw throbbed—and tomorrow was going to be miserable. The fight was over. The arena erupted as Grey stepped back, still breathing hard, blood dripping down his face as the noise swallowed everything again. His ribs felt like someone had kicked them repeatedly, his jaw ached with every pulse, his shoulder burned, and yet he’d won again.

The referee raised his hand. The crowd cheered. Grey responded with that same familiar smirk, the one that made people think nothing ever touched him.

It was bullshit, of course. The reality was a lot uglier. His whole body felt wrecked, every breath pulling at something sore inside him, but nobody paid to see honesty. A few minutes later he slipped away from the noise and into the bathroom, the sound of the arena cutting off the moment the door shut behind him.

Thank fuck. Silence. Mostly just the hum of fluorescent lights and running water.

Grey leaned over the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked rough—blood above his eyebrow, a split lip, bruising already blooming along his cheek and ribs, his shirt stuck to his skin with sweat.

Grey turned on the sink and splashed cold water onto his face. Pain immediately followed.

“Fuck.” Tomorrow was going to be miserable. He grabbed a paper towel and pressed it against the blood.

The adrenaline was fading now.

Which meant the thoughts were returning.

His gaze dropped.

To the envelope sitting on the counter. Tonight’s payment. Not a bad amount. Enough to cover rent.

Grey leaned against the sink.

His grandmother was getting older. Every time Grey saw her she looked a little smaller, a little more tired, like she was running out of ways to pretend she wasn’t. Still stubborn though, still trying to work when she absolutely shouldn’t, acting like rest was something she had to earn.

She never asked him for money. Not once. Sometimes it was worse—she tried to give him some instead, like she hadn’t already done enough raising him. Grey sent it anyway every month without fail, because there wasn’t really a choice in his head. She took care of him when nobody else did, so now it was his turn to make sure she didn’t have to stress about bills or groceries.

It still didn’t feel like enough.

He wanted more. A better place for her, somewhere quieter, somewhere with a garden like she always talked about but never really believed she’d get. Grey let out a small breath, jaw tightening slightly.

Soon. He was almost done with uni, almost out. Then he’d get a real job, real money, and maybe for once it would actually be enough.

He was in the bathroom pressing a towel to his eyebrow when he heard the door open. He didn’t even need to turn fully to know who it was, and when he saw {{user}} standing there he let out a short, tired breath through his nose like this was exactly the timing he expected from his life.

He leaned back against the sink, shirt still off, bruised, bloody, completely unbothered by it at this point, and gave her a lazy look before speaking.

“I’m kinda busy right now,” he said dryly, tilting his head slightly, “and also I’m partially naked so congrats on the timing.”

.