[Rybinsk - gala time] В наших глазах (Conrad)

Oh, no -- he could tell right away she hadn’t liked that answer. Zhenya looked away and Conrad did too, staring back at the performers as they took their bows, unable even to politely applaud. He hadn’t even thought about the club at Durmstrang, as he usually forgot it existed at all, but the thought sent a wave of fresh revulsion through him again -- he didn’t want to do these things at all, he thought, but especially not where anybody else could watch him. He got enough grief as it was.

Another performance was beginning and he pretended for a moment to watch it. It had been a stupid idea, he couldn’t help thinking, but he thought it would hurt her feelings to say so. As soon as he couldn’t stand the silence, he brandished his hand at the performer in the middle -- “I can’t do any of that,” he said in a whisper, “I can barely stand on one foot. And --” he broke off and looked at Zhenya again. “I couldn’t wear whatever that is,” he said, this time unable to keep from sounding offended. He glanced at his lap -- his robes sort of hid how bony his legs were, so he examined his snowglobe again, noticing offhand the tight clothes they were all wearing.

He would definitely have to hide this when he got home, he decided, but he doubted it would do him much good -- his parents didn’t need much provocation anymore to search Conrad’s room for anything he shouldn’t have had. He’d lost three galleons’ worth of pocket money in three years that way, and most of it he had gotten legitimately; his father was less likely to confiscate a trinket but he could still take badly to Conrad’s owning one.

Zhenya spoke again and Conrad glanced quickly back at her -- it sounded as though she had expected that this might be grounds to break up on, and Conrad said quickly, with some bafflement, “Of course I do.” Had this been such a big deal to her, whether or not he was interested in flying? It wasn’t as though she liked anything he was interested in (it occurred to him that he wasn’t sure he’d told her about anything he was interested in, but that wasn’t the point.)

As a concession he said, “I mean, maybe you could show me how to -- I don’t know -- I don’t want to learn any tricks -- but something basic.” He already dreaded it, but he drew himself up in his seat as if that would seal the promise, as if it would make him feel any better for compromising. Now he wanted rather badly to take it back, or to specify exactly how basic he meant, but that would weaken his position even further, so he just stared stiffly out at the performance again.

Zhenya stared at her friend in disbelief but soon her expression turned into an amused grin. “I don’t expect you to do any of this!” she said, only just stopping herself from adding ‘silly’ to it. A soft chuckle escaped her as she imagined Conrad, her Conrad in a tight fitting artistic flying suit. It was clearly not his style but, frankly, to try standing on an artistic flying broom there was absolutely no need to wear tights or anything. Maybe loosely fitting robes weren’t ideal but as long as he didn’t want to try anything difficult even that wouldn’t be much of a problem.

“I wouldn’t expect or… want you to wear anything like that,” Zhenya said quietly, suddenly the grin faded from her face as she wondered if he also felt so strongly and negatively about her attire now. The girl swallowed and looked down, not feeling like facing Conrad or watching the performance right now.

It was probably a masculinity thing, though, she tried to comfort herself. She had heard prejudices about the males in the sport before. Zhenya had never really understood why people considered it a sport for girls rather than boys, though. Male athletes could do such fantastic things on a broom, after all. She liked to admire their high jumps and wished she’d have such an energy in her own performances.

A nervous but relieved little smile spread across Zhenya’s features as Conrad confirmed that he still wanted to be her boyfriend despite the fact that he wasn’t into her sport. She exhaled loudly and leaned over to him to give him a peck on his cheek. “I’m glad,” she whispered into his ear before leaning back and getting more comfortable on her seat.

Her eyes lit up when he offered that she could show him something basic and immediately Zhenya straightened up again. She nodded eagerly, her small smile stretching into a wide one. “Yes,” she said eagerly, “that’s all I wanted anyway,” she admitted. “I just thought… since it is such a big part of my life it might be… good if you, I don’t know…” she shrugged and wasn’t quite sure how to put her thoughts into words. “I’d really like you to see how it is to fly a simple pattern. No need for any special moves. You can keep both feet safely on the platforms.”

Still smiling she turned to face the arena, but another thought came to her mind and she glanced at Conrad again. “And we can do it in secret, if you prefer that.” The last thing the girl wanted was to embarrass her boyfriend when he was going out of his way to do something to please her.

Conrad looked at Zhenya just as she laughed, and had to look straight down to mask the immediate surge of offense he took to it even when he knew already she hadn’t meant it to be mean. It was such an irrational, stupid feeling, but it was still strong in his stomach, like he’d been hit with it -- he felt lousy that he’d overridden his good mood at last, that he was back to his normal, resistive self. Zhenya was being very nice to him, her voice gentler, and he couldn’t tell if she was just being a girl or if she’d read some of his discomfort in his face; he slouched back into his seat, only barely resisting the temptation to put his feet in the chair with him. It would have been childish anyway.

She leaned closer to him -- he thought at first she was going for another kiss but she only touched her lips to his cheek, moved them to his ear. He nodded rather than respond, and waited until she’d leaned away to rub his ear against his shoulder. For some reason he liked this less than he’d liked their other kisses. Sheer affection sat less well with him than something he could have reciprocated, like it was just another form of condescension -- he was put in mind of his mother or his cousin ruffling his hair fondly when he’d said or done something stupid.

But he put that out of his mind.

Now he felt fairly grim again -- Zhenya was far more excited than him, sitting up and beaming at him; Conrad, in contrast, was sinking lower in his chair until he was almost at the edge of it. He managed a grimace instead of a smile; though he was glad she’d thought to temper her suggestions for his benefit, he didn’t doubt it was because she didn’t think he couldn’t handle himself.

If you prefer that. “Yeah,” he said, almost mumbling. Artistic flying might have been a major part of her life but he didn’t want it to be a major part of his. Frankly he didn’t like that it was a major part of hers in the first place, but they’d had that conversation before and he didn’t want to ruin the day. After a moment he said, “I don’t mean it in a rude way, you know -- but none of my family would like it very much.”

Zhenya couldn’t figure out Conrad right now. He seemed uncomfortable but she couldn’t really understand why. She was not demanding anything extreme of him. She was actually just trying to let him into her life. Wasn’t that what couples did? Allow each other to know every aspect about them? She was an artistic flyer and Conrad knew that. He had still agreed to be her boyfriend. Why was it such a big deal to mount a broom for her? She was not asking him to join the artistic flying club, did not want to get him a tight suit in some flashy colour. She did not even expect him to try out any special moves or attempt to ride an artistic flying broom more than once (unless, of course, he’d like to).

The way he nodded and then rubbed his ear against her shoulder made Zhenya feel quite self-conscious. She had given him a peck because she liked him and was glad that he felt the same way about her. However, his reaction seemed to indicate something else now. The girl swallowed, her gaze briefly wandering back to the performance. This was probably the first time that she sat in the stands for a great part of the gala and still didn’t really watch any of the fellow athletes properly.

Conrad’s concession had done more than to just reassure Zhenya. She had become a lot more hopeful again, but apparently her enthusiasm was too much for Conrad. Zhenya assumed that he still thought she expected more of him than she actually did. She wanted to explain herself but felt unable to express her feelings properly and, therefore, didn’t even attempt another explanation.

“Hmm,” Zhenya muttered when Conrad stated after a brief silence that he didn’t mean to be rude about artistic flying. She found his excuse rather feeble, though. If he wanted to try out artistic flying for her sake his family would not even have to know about it. The girl looked down and chewed on her lip thoughtfully.

“I don’t want you to become an artistic flyer,” she finally stated, feeling that she was repeating herself, “your family has no reason to worry about that,” her tone was slightly bitter, but she was well aware that while his family might not approve of artistic flyers, hers might not approve of Conrad (or any boy being her boyfriend) either. “If you really do not want to try it at all then that’s fine, too,” she offered, but the tone of her voice gave away that she wished he’d still try. “I just thought it would be nice... “ she shrugged, feeling tired of trying to get her point across. Was it so wrong that she wanted him to be able to relate a little more to what was important for her?

Now he thought he really had wrecked it -- he wrecked everything!!! -- for Zhenya gave him a faintly displeased hmm and Conrad, sunk in his chair as though he had every bit as much spine as his father said he did, returned it with a soft, complaining sound in his throat. Surely she had no right to be unhappy with him -- it wasn’t like having kissed him had made him a member of her family, it wasn’t like having kissed her meant he was bound by some invisible oath to like the things she liked.

And he had liked watching it -- at least, he had until now. Now he felt sort of like a kneazle rubbed up the wrong way and the performance in the middle was maddening and he couldn’t imagine how nobody had broken their back yet trying to do a stupid dance on a stupid broomstick.

Zhenya tried again. Conrad mumbled, “I know.” He had used his family as an excuse but he didn’t want to explain himself -- he had always been vague discussing them and he didn’t want to stop now. What would he even say? He knew on some level that he was paranoid, that he didn’t have any real reason to think that this might be the last straw, that this might break the dam that he and his parents had stacked two years of grievances behind. It would happen eventually, right? Just about everything he had ever dreaded had happened eventually. Conrad had pushed his parents very far, but he couldn’t believe he had already ridden out the worst.

He said, “I know,” again, feeling oddly like he wasn’t speaking to her so much as reciting this by rote. He didn’t know if she had begun to repeat herself or if he was just in a bad mood, but he was starting to suspect he was being talked down to. He wanted to protest that he wasn’t stupid but he was in far too dour a mood to argue -- he just wanted to sit, and to look at the performers, and to sort out the tangle of irritation in his head without being interrupted. He couldn’t stop Zhenya from talking, but he could easily stop listening; he caved to the temptation to put his feet on the chair and put his head in his arms, staring blankly out at the performers.

They were a few minutes into their relationship and it was already difficult. Zhenya couldn’t quite understand the mix of various different feelings. She was exhilarated and yet disappointed; she adored Conrad and was still mad at him. The girl looked at him and wondered if things would get easier for them. She didn’t want to give up, but maybe they weren’t meant to be a couple. Maybe they couldn’t be more than friends. Maybe… but she didn’t want to accept that.

Conrad agreed with something she said but Zhenya wasn’t quite sure she knew exactly with which part. It did not matter much, she assumed. The fact that he agreed, however, briefly lured a small smile back onto her face. It wasn’t all hopeless yet.

She wondered about his family now. Hers wasn’t easy to deal with, that much was certain. However, she hadn’t seriously considered the role of his family yet - after all, he had never spoken about them a whole lot. She could not picture them, could not really tell what they expected from Conrad. All that she knew was that he wasn’t too happy with his situation at home.

Conrad agreed again and watched the performance or pretended to watch it - Zhenya wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to talk. That much she understood. However, she felt that they needed to talk. She’d have to get ready for her next performance soon. Did they really want to sit in silence until then? What did that mean? Were they a couple now or was this already a break up?

She stared at the centre of the arena, unable to even realise that the performance she had been waiting to see was happening just now. She only realised what she had missed when the music ended and Nastya and Tolya bowed to the crowd. She applauded alongside the rest of the audience but couldn’t tell what they had really done.

“I guess I’ll have to go in a few minutes,” she told Conrad, “I’ve got to refresh my makeup and warm up for the performance,” she explained and wondered if he’d be happy to see her leave already now.

At first looking out at the performers didn’t do his mood any good. The next act came into the centre and Conrad focused for too long on the man -- he was graceful and talented and Conrad wanted in a perverse way to hate it, to feel that revolted rush again; outward revulsion was easier and less frustrating to dwell on than the fact that Zhenya was upset at him and he deserved it. But it was hypnotic to watch, and the music was nice, and it didn’t occur to him for almost a minute that he had smoothed out his scowl. Somehow that bothered him -- he dragged in a short, hitching breath and held it until his chest hurt and he let out a quick sigh.

There was something so artificial about the whole thing, he was thinking -- the makeup and the colourful costumes and the bright lights and the unnaturally flexible way they moved -- and something about the stadium instead of the dark made it less palatable to him. It was pretty, and it needed a lot of talent, but it wasn’t engrossing the way it might have been if it were less of a sport. But even if he didn’t like it much he knew without looking that Zhenya still looked remarkably pretty under all the makeup, that the colours made her seem brighter and more cheerful. At least they had before he’d upset her.

Conrad didn’t want her to be mad at him. He was sort of tired of everybody being mad at him -- so much of the time he couldn’t help whatever it was that had pissed them off, but this was just the stupidest, that he had sat here curled like a fern and desperate for no reason not to seem like this all had nothing to do with him. He didn’t have to love it, but he didn’t have to be mean -- he didn’t want to be mean either. He chewed contemplatively on his lower lip and tried to think of something to say to Zhenya -- I meant it when I said you could show me some flying or I really didn’t mean to be rude or Sorry -- but she spoke first. “Ah,” he said, looking over at her as she explained she had to fix her makeup. Hastily he sat up normally again, unfolding his legs.

She looked fine to him -- really pretty, really -- and he wanted to say so, but he thought it would fall flat if she were still mad at him. Instead he glanced at her lips again, almost surprising himself that he sort of wanted to kiss her again, for luck. That was stupid, though -- he licked his lips and said, “Ni pukha ni pera,” and then -- meaning it a little as the apology he didn’t think he would get to, today or ever -- “I’m glad you asked me to come. I am having a good time.”

Ah.

That wasn’t much of a reaction to what she had said. Zhenya lowered her gaze, suddenly feeling somewhat cold and uncomfortable. “Mhmm,” she said without even being fully aware that she had made a sound. He did not seem to mind it much that their time watching the performances together was coming to an end.

Well, truth be told, they hadn’t really watched a lot anyway. Zhenya had somehow imagined this whole evening with Conrad differently. They had kissed, had agreed to be a couple and yet this did not feel romantic or even particularly nice. In fact, right at this very moment Zhenya felt that she had just taken on another obligation, similar to the artistic flying club captaincy.

Conrad sat up straighter again and looked at her. Zhenya shifted on her seat, feeling awkward. She bit her lips, wondering if she should just get to her feet already and leave. Maybe it would be the best for both of them. The girl placed her hands on her knees, ready to push herself up.

She glanced at Conrad as he wished her luck for her performance and nodded. She’d be fine. It was a group performance, a kind of finale, it wouldn’t be hard. Actually the finale was quite fun. They had an easy but beautiful choreography that the audience would surely appreciate.

A surprised and relieved smile spread across Zhenya’s face when her boyfriend told her that he was glad she had invited him and that he had a good time. She really hadn’t expected anything like that. “I’m glad, too. Really glad,” she felt that she blushed again. Why did she have to blush now? Her heartbeat quickened as she thought that they’d have to say goodbye now, wondering if this was the right opportunity to kiss him again.

“Well then,” she began and gave a little shrug. “I should probably go before they come looking for me…” She paused and leaned towards him, offering him the chance for a brief affectionate gesture.

As she got to her feet she smiled at him. “I hope you get home safely. Owl me, please, will you?!?” She knew that her cheeks were bright pink now but that couldn’t be helped. “See you at school, Conrad.” For a second or two she still stood there, looking at him, then she spun around quickly and hurried downstairs and out of his sight.

[out]

Zhenya gave him another displeased hum, which Conrad barely registered. She was turning pink again; he doubted his face had ever lost colour, in the entire time since she’d kissed him. He scratched his cheek with his fingernails and shifted in his seat. “Yes,” he said -- she leaned in just a little and he smiled briefly, leaned in to touch his lips to hers again. She was treating this as though she wouldn’t be back out after the last performance; he was surprised to be disappointed by that.

He leaned back -- she was very pink now, and he smiled again at her. It was oddly pleasing to think that she was so flustered and flushed because of him -- because of what they had been doing in the stands in the stadium where (hopefully) nobody had seen them. Or something. He was flustered and flushed too, of course, though he thought it didn’t suit him so well.

Owl me, please -- Conrad prayed fervently this wouldn’t be expected of him every day for the rest of vacation, but nodded. “See you at school,” he echoed faintly, but she took off before he could think of anything else to add.

That was just as well. He didn’t think he would have lasted much longer without making an even greater fool of himself than he already had. The music was starting up again; after one last look in the direction Zhenya had disappeared, Conrad swivelled back around to watch the show.



END