The darkness is different. Cold and dead when there is no sound or touch around. Angry and fighting when you just get used to it. Gnawing at the soul and driving fear into the very depths of the heart, when you suddenly realize that she is now with you forever. But there is another darkness, one in which slippers can rustle on the laminate, one in which, as expected, the wind rustles in the crowns of invisible trees, rustles with fallen leaves underfoot, sticks a wet dog's nose into the palm of your hand, or suddenly walks with a rough tickling tongue across your cheeks. After all, this is also the blackness in which a blind person dwells. Darkness is multifaceted and all-embracing. Matchmaker began to get to know her not so long ago, from the day when one day, on a walk, about six months ago, he felt the wet wind of the pre-New Year's weather on his face. The world behind a veil of impenetrable darkness continued to be the same strange, beautiful and attractive. It was then that Svyatoslav took his camera out of his wardrobe trunk and snapped the first series of random shots. He did not know why he did it, nor did he see the result. But the feeling that everything should be exactly this way, and not otherwise, overtook him, and did not let go anymore. Sometimes in the dark, familiar voices sounded, in which there was not an ounce of dreary pity. Swat also referred to them as Ziganshina, whom he met a year ago when he applied for service. Still, sometimes it was necessary to cook a meal. He was not going to manage all the time with ready-made dinners heated in the microwave. I wanted to eat banal borscht or a stew of liquid potatoes with meat. Yes, and the same curtains should be replaced with clean ones - you still need the skill of the sighted. At least to understand - it's time to change or not. Bekhterev handled the automatic washing machine with one left hand. But with the same washing of the floors with a clumsy right. But Swat did not want to be overgrown with dust and other delights of a bachelor invalid life.
Why he suddenly agreed to the presence in his apartment of a stranger guy, young and overly caring, Swat could not answer even the most undemanding inner interlocutor - himself. But you can't erase a word from a song. Having already seen the head of the OSOND and this Stepan Arkadyevich, a student of nineteen years old, Svyatoslav realized that he was looking forward to the return of the guy who went to get some things. The next two hours were spent walking nervously across the laminate, from the hallway to the window and back, skirting the armchair and coffee table. Catching himself doing this, Swat smiled nervously. Still, the change in his established life was significant. And the boy needs to be well trained. Svyatoslav's lips stretched out in an anticipating grin.
When the doorbell rang, Swat followed the Chip, who had trodden into the corridor, to the front door and opened it slightly without removing the control chain-stopper. The dog thrashed against the leg and growled again, not for the first time today. What was happening to the Labrador, Swat could not understand. There is simply no kinder dog, but here - such a reaction to some kid. As if jealous ... Smiling at a funny thought, Swat asked, listening to the darkness:
- Who is here with the fat dog?
- The chip is not fat, - a familiar voice answered in surprise. - You are taking good care of her, Svyatoslav Lvovich.
- Ah, Stepan Arkadyevich! - Swat drawled, inhaling air through his nose. Precisely, there was a student outside the door. The boy did not use any perfume. And the photographer liked the natural smell of washed skin, hair shampoo, and ironed clothes even during the first visit of Frost to his apartment two hours ago. The chain left its post, the door was thrown open by a hand push, and Swat stepped to the side, clearing the passage:
- Come in, dear intern. Make yourself at home, but don't forget that you are a guest.
The darkness next to Bekhterev stirred with a living wind, letting in the guest. The counter sticking out at the feet of the blind man sighed sadly, realizing that the strange guest was here for a long time, and sedately retired to the apartment, judging by the clattering sounds. She didn't even wag her tail. Svyatoslav frowned, after all the dog was behaving illogically. But he immediately brushed aside vague suspicions. If he is jealous, he will soon calm down. A day, maybe two, and he will stop noticing the trainee. Boots slammed, something landed on the floor with a heavy rag, and Arkadyevich's voice asked a little lost:
- Let's get to know each other normally.
- That is, to the brotherhood and to the bed? - Swat inquired at the easily breathing darkness. The student sighed and replied:
- Alcohol is contraindicated for you, don't you know?
- So you don't mind a bed, young and interesting man? - the question asked itself inevitably, and Bekhterev did not stop himself. He was really starting to like what was happening.
- Yes, a bed in the Bahamas at this time of year would be very useful, - agreed Arkadyevich with open sarcasm. Bekhterev already "swam" - a boy with character! What a charm ... He wanted to touch the guy, to feel him, in order to completely drive the almost formed image into the subcortex. And Bekhterev finally closed the front door, after which he commanded:
- Give me your hand.
- Sorry, I didn't take a pacifier, - replied the new neighbor in personal space. The matchmaker stood still for a second, puzzled, and then realized what the guy had in mind, who had managed to move into the hall. It seems that the student decided that he was offered to lead the blind man by the hand, like a little one. And he answered quite in the spirit of Swat himself. Bekhterev smiled broadly, walked into the hall, and said:
- I need to feel you, young man, so as not to be frightened in the morning. Will such an explanation suit? Do not be afraid, I will not paw.
Stepan immediately went up to him and touched his wrist with his palm. The matchmaker grabbed the limb and began to examine it with his fingers. Bekhterev was still far from the normal sensitivity of an experienced blind man, but months of training did their job. He was able to form an opinion about the guy. The palm is strong, accustomed to iron bars - which means, at least, it is pulled up on the horizontal bar. The fingers are long, almost musical, very young. The wrist is wide and massive. Yes, the guy is not one of the flimsy ones, he can really fight back ... The matchmaker laughed, to which Arkadyevich immediately asked:
- Did you expect something else?
"Of course, as an old pervert, I wanted a subtle innocent victim for my ambitions," the photographer nodded. - And you can really go to the eye.
- No, - the trainee answered seriously, - it's a sin to spoil such a face. Rather, I'll ride with my knee ...
He didn't finish the sentence. But Matchmaker understood him perfectly and with impudent assertiveness suddenly pulled the guy to him, succumbing to a strange impulse. The student didn't even twitch when an arm was wrapped around his waist. Only breathing became harsh. But not at all from passion, which Swat secretly hoped for. It was a breath of even calculating anger. Bekhterev's fingers fell on the guy's face. He asked a little perplexedly:
- What are you doing?
- I am making a portrait, you know, - answered Swat, running his fingertips over the most characteristic features of his face. After a couple of seconds, Swat realized that if he had been sighted, even then he would not have walked past such a guy. Thin narrow eyebrows under a beautiful smooth forehead converged to the bridge of the nose of a thoroughbred nose. Wide cheekbones also did not cause any complaints. They were almost sophisticated. Briefly touching his slightly plump lips, Swat touched the guy's chin with his fingers and removed his hand. There was something to lose peace of mind. These young lips seemed to be waiting for a sensitive caress, and an inconspicuous, but quite perceptible, dimple on the chin and pulled to touch her again. Bekhterev sucked in air through his teeth, and then Stepan Arkadyevich, a thin young man, but athletic to the touch asked:
- Can you let me go? Or do you feel bad?
In the guy's voice, there was a muffled note of restrained indignation and obvious shock. Svyatoslav instantly felt hot pressure in his groin and something else that he had never expected. Something that the kid could really freak out about. The photographer's tense flesh was casually pressed against the trainee's belly. Bekhterev immediately pushed the guy away from him and said coldly:
"It's just a starving organism's salute to a new body within reach, nothing more.
The matchmaker turned away irritably and moved to the bathroom. But his rumor let him down again, Bekhterev heard an angry whisper of a student:
- Damn, this preoccupied one is completely fucking ... And who was he here to convince of "nothing more"? Jerk.
- I hear you, Stepan Arkadyevich, - Swat immediately responded. - Take the trouble to think silently. And leave your opinion to yourself, samurai from social.
- Damn ... - the guy responded even more quietly.
- Did you know that in ancient Japan, cohabitation between an older and a younger man was normal? So to speak, an element of growing up and upbringing?
"We're not in the ancient Japanese army," the student replied sullenly.
"You're right, young man," said Matchmaker, gripping the handle of the bathroom door. - Just as right as the fact that planes still fly. But you know, they sometimes fall.
He locked himself in the bathroom, leaned back against the door, and exhaled, analyzing what had happened. Sounds like scoffing with a guy is fraught. This is to provoke yourself into all sorts of nonsense. Bekhterev bit his lip, regretting for the first time that he had withdrawn from his personal life. If only there were one-time partners, now he did not feel such shame. Moreover, there was not a trace of any response in the boy's body. Only some traces of awakened disgust, apparently. The matchmaker realized that his pants were still cramped. And Chip squeaked past the door and lay down somewhere on the threshold of the apartment. It was a good sign - the dog recognized the guest. But at the same time, it was bad - there was no reason to put Arkadyevich out now. You can't even refer to the aggression of a guide. Bekhterev abruptly lowered his pants along with his underpants. The sensations were long forgotten. Like a schoolboy caught in a lesson with a boner. Fingers closed on the stone trunk, causing tremors in the whole body. The matchmaker whispered through his teeth:
- Heck…
The hand itself began the process of miserable ersatz sex. And he kept whispering to himself:
- Damn, damn, damn, damn ...
An understanding was born in his head that it was not yet known which of the two would be worse in these coming two weeks. He, who has picked up the virus of concern during the seclusion, or the guy who sees perfectly and is more than able to stand up for himself if unwelcome hands reach out to him.