Nikolay 'Kolya' Utkin ║ Hudson Valley Sabertooths

The team's charity gala is winding down like a dying clock. Most of the Sabertooths are drunk, dancing badly, or both. The DJ has given up on anything respectable and is now playing early 2000s pop punk. Someone, probably Sage ,is attempting a backflip near the dessert table. Someone else,definitely Cody, is filming it.

But Kolya Utkin stands by the windows overlooking the Hudson, a glass of something dark in his hand, tie loosened until it hangs like an afterthought, watching the river instead of the party.

The river is honest. The river doesn't want anything from him. And...it’s pretty.

He's been alone for the last twenty minutes. Not lonely, exactly. Just... separate. The captain's curse. Too high up for anyone to reach, too far down for anyone to want to try. He's used to it. Most days, he even prefers it.

He's not a social type. He is when he has to be. Tonight is... eh. It's what he has to be whenever the coach is close. Smile at the donors. Shake the hands. Pretend the tightness in his chest is just the whisky and not the weight of eighteen other men who look at him when things go wrong.

He looks back at the center of it all , Cody by the snack table, Sage probably in the bathroom because he absolutely ate something with dairy in it, Dexter flirting with someone from the staff like he's been shot out of a cannon.

Normal.

Loud.

Kolya sighs through his nose, sipping his whisky and looking down, watching the little orange peel move alongside the ice cubes. The glass sweats in his hand. The music thrums through the floor. A woman in silver heels laughs too loud near his elbow.

God.

He is bored.

Not the kind of bored that comes from nothing happening. The kind that comes from everything happening around him and none of it touching him. Like watching a game through glass. Like being a ghost at his own party.

Until.

Until someone else drifts away from the noise.

He doesn't notice them at first. Not really. Just a shape in his peripheral, a crack in the static. But then they move, a shift of weight, a turn of the head, and something in Kolya's chest goes still.

Not a player. Not press. He knows those walks. Those postures. The way people move when they want something from him.

This is different.

They're just... standing. Near the edge of the party like they don't quite belong either. Like they showed up out of obligation or curiosity or some third thing he can't name. Their hands are empty. No drink. No phone. No desperate grip on a champagne flute to anchor them to the room.

Kolya doesn't turn fully. Just tilts his head. Lets his gaze slide sideways. Watches them from the corner of his eye like he's spotting a deer in the trees , one wrong move and they'll vanish.

Interesting.

He's never seen them before. Which isn't uncommon , most of these people, he has no idea who the fuck they are. Donors. Sponsors. Distant cousins of the owner. Faces that blur together into one big smiling nothing.

But this one...

He takes another sip of his drink, slower this time. Lets the whisky burn his tongue for a second before swallowing. The heat spreads down his throat, settles somewhere behind his ribs.

He can't look away.

Something about them makes him... feel something. He doesn't have a word for it yet. Maybe it's the primal part of his brain ,the ancient, stupid part that knows what it wants before the rest of him catches up. Maybe it's the fact they barely looked at him. Didn't do the double-take. Didn't whisper behind their hand.

Maybe it's the fact they are exactly his type.

He doesn't even know what that means anymore. He's spent so long being what everyone needs , captain, son, success story , that he forgot he had a type at all. But looking at them, watching the way the low light catches their jaw, their shoulder, the line of their spine...

At least for now, they are just... perfect.

His eyes drop. Traces the line of their body , not hungry, not yet, just curious , before they turn and walk toward the balcony doors. The glass swings shut behind them. The curtain ripples.

And Kolya's body is already moving.

Not running. He doesn't run. But his feet are carrying him across the floor before his brain gives permission. He sets his glass down on a passing tray , doesn't even see who takes it ,and angles toward the doors.

"Kooolyaaaaaaa!!!"

He grunts, looking over his shoulder.

A bright orange suit-covered arm drapes over his shoulder like a very drunk, very heavy scarf.

"Gus."

Gus's face is flushed pink to the roots of his hair. His bow tie is hanging sideways. His eyes are the color of a man who has made several poor decisions in rapid succession. Also green. Oh yes. He is absolutely drunk.

"Man," Gus slurs, squinting up at him with sincere, wobbling affection. "Man, you have to try this."

He holds up a bright blue drink. It glows under the party lights."I have no idea what it is," Gus continues, gesturing vaguely with the glass, "but the lady, the bar lady ,"

"Bartender."

"Bartender lady," Gus repeats, stumbling over the word, "she made me this. Said it was her special." He whistles, long and low. "It's the fifth one I have."

"Mhm."

Kolya's eyes flick up, over Gus's shoulder, toward the balcony doors.

They are still outside.

Good.

"Good for you," he says, already reaching up to remove Gus's arm. "Excuse me, Gus."

"Wha? Whyyy?"

Gus blinks at him like a confused golden retriever. His arm flops back down to his side. He looks genuinely wounded, lower lip jutting out.

"Come on, man! Come on! We gotta have some fun!" He throws his arm out toward the dance floor, nearly clocking a passing waiter. "I heard they'll start the music soon! Like, real music! Not this ," he waves at the speakers, " , this sad boy garbage!"

Kolya stares at him.

Gus stares back.

The DJ transitions into a Fall Out Boy song. Someone screams. No one expected a gala to play Fall Out Boy,but the night is indeed full of surprises.

Kolya exhales slowly through his nose. Then he steps in. Closer. Drops his voice to something low and calm. Captain voice. The one that makes rookies straighten their spines and veterans shut their mouths.

"Gus. Listen to me very carefully."

Gus goes cross-eyed trying to focus.

Kolya points toward the snack table. Toward the chocolate fountain. "There is a chocolate fountain over there. You are going to walk to it. You are going to put something in the chocolate. A strawberry. A marshmallow. Your entire face. I don't care."

Gus's mouth falls open.

"You are going to be very happy," Kolya continues, voice dropping even lower. "And you are going to leave me alone. Do you understand?"

Gus blinks. Blinks again. A slow, dopey grin spreads across his face.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay!"

Gus salutes him , actually salutes him , and stumbles off toward the chocolate fountain like a man on a holy mission. He nearly takes out a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes. He doesn't notice. He's already forgotten Kolya exists.

Kolya watches him go for exactly two seconds. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Idiots. All of them.

He adjusts his tie. Rolls his shoulders back. Tells himself he's not in a hurry.

He crosses the room.

The crowd parts around him without meaning to , that thing he can't control, the way people just move when he walks. He doesn't look left or right. Doesn't acknowledge the hand that pats his back, the voice that calls his name. His eyes are on the balcony doors.

The handle is cold under his palm.

He pushes it open.

The air hits him like a wall , cold, sharp, smelling like rain and river and something green from the gardens below,fresh cut grass,roses. The music fades behind the glass. The laughter turns to muffled noise. The whole party shrinks to a glow at his back.

Quiet.

Finally.

The balcony is long and narrow, wrought iron curling into shapes he doesn't care about. String lights loop overhead, half of them burnt out. The Hudson stretches out below, black water reflecting the city lights in smeared, oily streaks.

And there they are.

Leaning against the railing. Looking out at the river. Their shoulders are relaxed. Their head is tilted just slightly, like they're listening to something far away.

They don't turn around when the door opens.

They don't look at him.

Good.

Kolya stops a few feet away. Doesn't close the distance. Not yet.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. Lets the cold bite his cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck. He should go back inside. Should make another round. Should shake more hands and smile more smiles and be the captain everyone expects.

He doesn't move.

He watches them instead. The way their breath fogs in the air. The way their fingers curl around the railing. The way they exist in this space like they have every right to be here, like they're not waiting for permission.

He waits.

Maybe too long.

Say something, idiot.

His voice comes out lower than he meant it to. "You're missing the worst dancing I've ever seen."

A pause. The river shifts below. A boat horn sounds in the distance.

He watches for a reaction. A flinch. A turn. Anything.

"Thought you should know."

He doesn't smile. Doesn't move closer. Just stands there with his hands in his pockets and his tie loose around his neck and his heart doing something stupid that he refuses to acknowledge.