Saint Petersburg in the evening is quite the treat for the eyes. The sun wraps itself in beautiful fabrics of red, orange, yellow, and pink, while the hum of the street calms to a song specifically for those late to dinner. It's almost perfect, except for the current ambience of sound that differs from its normal state, disturbed by a verbal altercation concerning the ethics of sending young men to die systematically in heaps.

I'm not entirely sure where the discussion came from. I believe the two boys struck up conversation on the street, sifted through various topics, and eventually came to a halt on this one -- this unfortunate subject. Nevertheless, I am sure that it's becoming more and more fueled as it goes on. It's escalating higher by the second, and I'm scared for the climax.

On one side of the debate, there is a boy that I've seen around but have never talked with. Anatole, the only person that chooses to be around me so often, says that he's trouble, a real hothead with strong opinions that could get him into a serious mess. Because I don't like him, I have no qualms about saying that he's pretty ugly, with a nose that sticks out too far and teeth that he never tends to, even though he's the financially stable one and should be able to afford some dental hygiene products. His stance is that war is necessary in order to achieve a country's goals, and that we should skip straight to it when we need to solve.

On the other side of the debate, there is a boy of a slightly older age that I've never seen before. His Russian is very good, which I only bring up because I detect the slightest of accents that I can identify as French from the babble I've heard from Russian nobles passing by where I usually rest on the street. His stance is that war should not exist as long as there are words to negotiate a solution to the problem, and that using people's sons and fathers and husbands is unethical. Although I've never met him, my opinion lies with his, and it's not just because I want to spite the other guy.

Both sides are heated with anger, each believing that the other person is unbelievably ignorant and has no idea how the human psyche functions when presented with difficult situations. However, the pro-war boy looks distressed and as if he's on the brink of having a stroke, meanwhile the anti-war boy's anger stems from his passion about solving matters ethically and effectively, without mass carnage, and his facts are justified. The other boy, not so much.

"You can't possibly believe that there is no room for negotiation before we launch ourselves into destruction," the anti-war guy claims, one hand placed on his hip and the other suspended and poised towards his opponent, which really showcases his exasperation.

The anti-war guy's argument about having room for negotiation before clumsily throwing oneself into destruction should be a common truth, yet his opponent continues to baffle me with his imbecility as he persists. "War leaves an impression. If we destroy our enemy, they'll know not to mess with us again."

"If we destroy our enemy, there will be no one left to do anything at all!" The man is so frustrated that he forces himself to look away for a moment, but it only lasts for the brief period of time when his opponent isn't dripping bullshit out of his mouth. It doesn't take much time for that to happen.

"Isn't that the goal?"

The anti-war guy's previous pose returns. He shifts his head back to the pro-war fool ever so slowly. You can tell that this recent comment has rendered him beyond furious. "So you don't even want other countries to help your own?"

"If we tear them down, we can take whatever we want from them."

"What you're taking by doing that is actually thousands of innocent lives! These people could've been wonderful scientists, artists, or at least have had their lives to themselves, not ripped away from them by decisions they have no say in from men who think they know best, from men who think no opposing country means no problem so the only resolution is to decimate them." A curtain of rose is pulled across the man's usually perfect face, matching the sunset. His voice can be heard all throughout Saint Petersburg, or so it seems. He cares a lot about this topic. I wonder what made him this way.

"And what happens if that country is taken over and the ideals are changed?"

The man considers sustaining the debate, as he is obviously very upset about the obtuseness that he is being forced to hear, but he is so aware of his opponent's obtuseness that he realizes that there's no way to negotiate this time, and that there's no use fighting what cannot be changed. He calms himself. "My point is that all of this can be circumvented by discussing what is amiss, then fixing it in a civilized manner."

The pro-war guy starts to fire back with something equally as stupid as what he's been spewing (possibly even stupider), but I cut him off, finally speaking up. "You're really just contradicting yourself. You're digging a deeper hole by the second."

The boy's eye contact swings from his opponent to me like a the booms of a sailboat flying over to change direction. Offended is the only way I can describe his facial expression, but I want it to be known that there is a whole plethora of emotions nestled into the aforementioned. His mouth forms an unspoken word before changing to, "You know what, who asked you?"

"No one, but I don't recall an invitation for your opinion, so I assume I can offer mine as well."

I glance over to the anti-war guy, the handsome and mysterious stranger who now invites the most discreet of smirks to his lips. He's on my team, just as I was on his.

"Whatever. I'm gonna go get some food that my family actually paid for, something I'm sure you're not familiar with" -- I see the stranger move the slightest bit, as if he was about to attack the boy but remembered his promise to himself to calm down before he could go anywhere -- "and you can tell your shady friend Anatole that I know what he did and he can go to hell."

I assume he's referring to one of Anatole's many antics against the people he finds annoying, but I have no chance to inquire as to what it was this time, as the whiny boy stomps away from us, leaving me and the stranger alone together in the chilly air of the evening.

"Do you know this boy?" he asks me as he approaches. He watches me while I respond, and he appears genuinely interested by what I have to say. His gaze is intent, yet his eyes are soft, a very pleasant stare. He must be a good listener.

"Now I do, but apparently he knew me and my friend before this brawl."

He nods, then veers down another path of the most essential questions. "What's your name?"

"Alexei. Kozlov. Alexei Kozlov, that is."

"I'm Olivier. Renaud. Olivier Renaud." He laughs warmly, and when he does so, his magnificent cerulean eyes are joined by crows pressing the imprint of their feet into the surrounding skin. "By the way, I know we just met, but I think I like you, Alexei Kozlov, even though you look a bit shabby."

I raise my eyebrow.

"No offense, of course. It's just..." He surveys me up and down, and his face twists into dissatisfaction. "You could use a bath."

"And where would I find one, Olivier Renaud?"

"You could come back to my place, if you want. I just don't want you to freeze out here. I'm finding the Russian weather to be as cold as my dear mother's heart. And what that boy said about not having food to eat...I'm just a bit worried, is all." Olivier's countenance is one of genuine concern, which I appreciate, but I cannot accept his offer. I just met him, as he said himself. My life is hard enough even without trusting strangers, no matter how enchanting I find them.

"Well you don't need to worry about a street urchin like me."

I don't need to be given handouts by people like him. If he's a Frenchman in Russia, chances are he's noble. No one comes to Russia for the living conditions it endows to the middle class. In addition, his clothes are far too nice for any commoner. I would say his entire air smells like rich boy, but his expensive cologne already does the job perfectly well. Anyone can see that he's very wealthy, and I do not exist to serve as charity from people like him.

My aim is to walk away, but my aim is thwarted by Olivier's arm lightly restraining me from movement.

"Alexei, please. It's the least I can do, and to be frank, I am in dire need of friends in Russia." Well now he's just pleading, and I just can't refuse something like that -- I still won't refuse retaining a few suspicions, though.

"Aren't you worried that I'll come and steal your stuff or murder your dog?"

"I don't have a dog, and one effect of bathing you and feeding you is that you'll feel no need to steal, because all that you require will have been given to you already." Olivier's eyes search me hopefully, scanning for either an approval or a rejection, and just the light spilling from his visage makes me a bit more lenient.

"Are you really adamant about this?"

"You know how strong my opinions are," he assures me with a simper reminding me of the situation that occurred a few minutes in the past.

A slender strip of joy spreads across my face. "Then let's go."

Olivier exhales in relief and matches my smile, finally welcomed after lengthy advocacy. "Magnificent."

~~~~~

A/N: hey I'm Dakota, thanks for reading, hope you continue reading ;)))

there are gonna be a lot of pictures/gifs of my Olivier faceclaim just because he's hot as hell lmao

btw I am a comment hoe and if u leave a comment I will love you forever unless you're shadows-and-monsters

if u want to see some sick memes or talk to me, u can hit me up on instagram @colddeadrats

here's the spotify playlist I made for the story: https://open.spotify.com/user/nostrilartist/playlist/79JOby5uGenix70EokcBl4

~Dakota