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Bran's family mingled among the guests, his mother dabbing her eyes with a tissue, and his father proudly recounting stories of how his son had always been a prodigy with a brush. Meanwhile, Bran himself stood at the center of it all, glowing under the lights, the very picture of an artist who had found his place in the world.
Niko's gaze never left him. Not for a second.
When Brandon finally stepped up to the microphone to address the crowd, the murmurs quieted into anticipation.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Bran began, his voice steady but warm, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Nikolai. “This exhibition means the world to me, not just because it showcases my work, but because it represents a journey—a journey I couldn’t have made alone.”
Nikolai raised an eyebrow, his chest tightening as Bran's words washed over him.
Bran continued, a small smile curling his lips. “Every piece here tells a story, a part of me. But there’s one piece that’s the most important. It’s not just a painting—it’s my heart on canvas.”
The room erupted into applause as Bran walked toward a large, shrouded frame in the center of the gallery. With a flourish, he pulled the curtain away, revealing the final painting: Nikolai’s portrait.
Gasps echoed through the room.
Nikolai froze.
The painting captured him with an ethereal glow, his striking features softened by the kind of warmth only someone deeply in love could see. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were filled with light, as if Bran had painted the very essence of Nikolai’s soul.
Bran turned back to the microphone, his voice trembling slightly. “This is my masterpiece. No matter how many paintings I create in the future, this will always be the one closest to my heart. Because Nikolai saved me. He believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. He pulled me out of darkness and showed me what it means to be loved unconditionally.”
Nikolai’s vision blurred as his throat tightened. He blinked furiously, trying to swallow the lump forming, but the dam broke when Bran stepped down from the podium, the crowd parting like a sea.
Bran stopped in front of Nikolai, his eyes bright with determination and love. Then, to Niko’s utter disbelief, he got down on one knee, pulling out a ring with a diamond so brilliant it caught every light in the room.
Gasps turned into murmurs as the room held its collective breath.
Bran looked up at him, his voice steady despite the emotion thickening it. “Nikolai Sokolov, you are the love of my life, the reason I can stand here today. You’ve cherished me in ways I never thought I deserved, and now it’s my turn. I want to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re more than enough, that you’re extraordinary, that you’re loved beyond measure. Will you marry me?”
Nikolai’s chest heaved, his breath hitching as tears spilled freely down his cheeks. His knees buckled, and before Bran could react, Nikolai dropped to his own knees, facing him.
The crowd gasped, but Niko didn’t care. His hands cupped Bran’s face, his voice breaking as he whispered, “You idiot. Of course, I’ll marry you. But let me say this—” He gripped Bran’s hands, his voice trembling. “You say I saved you, but you saved me, too. Every time you smile, every time you touch me, you remind me there’s light in this world. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m not letting go. Never.”
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as Bran slid the ring onto Niko’s finger, their foreheads pressing together as they both laughed through their tears.
“God, I love you,” Bran whispered.
“Love you more, love,” Niko murmured, pulling him into a kiss that left no room for doubt about their forever.
…………………………
Nikolai sat cross-legged on the plush carpet of their living room, his daughter Leigh Sokolov-King nestled snugly in his lap. Her wide eyes focused on the spoonful of yogurt he held out for her, but her curiosity was clearly more on the story he was telling. At three years old, Leigh already had her father’s sharp attention to detail and her papa’s endless curiosity about everything.
“Alright, little princess,” Nikolai said, his voice soft and warm, “where were we?” He dipped the spoon into the yogurt and waved it playfully. “Ah, yes. So, your Papa, he had this big, big event. All these people came to see his paintings.”
Leigh clapped her tiny hands, already enraptured. “Papa paints pretty!”
Nikolai chuckled, nodding. “Yes, he does. The best paintings in the whole world. But there was one painting—” He leaned in conspiratorially, as though revealing a secret. “—that was extra special. Do you know what it was?”
Leigh tilted her head, her curls bouncing as she thought hard. “A bunny?”
Brandon, lounging on the couch nearby with a sketchpad in hand, snorted, shaking his head. “Close, sweetheart, but not quite.”
“No, not a bunny,” Nikolai said with mock seriousness, though his lips twitched with amusement. “It was a painting of me.”
Leigh gasped dramatically, her tiny hand flying to her mouth. “You, Papa?”
“Me,” Nikolai confirmed, holding out another spoonful of yogurt, which she obediently accepted. “And it wasn’t just any painting. Your Papa said it was his masterpiece. The best thing he’s ever made.”
Leigh squinted at Bran as if trying to see the truth in his face. Bran gave her a playful wink and nodded. “That’s right, little one. Your papa’s face is my best work.”
Leigh giggled, yogurt smudged on her chin, and Nikolai used her distraction to wipe it away with a tissue. “So,” he continued, “after he showed everyone that painting, do you know what your Papa did?”
“What?” she asked, leaning forward, her yogurt momentarily forgotten.
“He knelt down, right in front of everyone,” Nikolai said, his voice dropping into a dramatic whisper, “and asked me to marry him with a BIG RING.”
Leigh gasped again, her hands clutching her cheeks. “Did you say yes?”
Bran laughed from the couch, his sketchpad forgotten as he leaned forward to watch them. “Of course, he did, Leigh. But do you know what your Dada did next?”
Leigh shook her head, her curls bouncing wildly.
“I knelt down, too,” Nikolai said, his tone softening. “Because your Papa wasn’t the only one who wanted forever. I wanted it just as much.”
Leigh’s eyes sparkled with delight as she squirmed in Nikolai’s lap, reaching for Bran. “Papa, did you cry?”
Bran let out a laugh, moving to sit beside them on the carpet. He scooped Leigh into his arms, peppering her face with kisses, much to her delighted squeals. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his eyes meeting Nikolai’s. “But only because I was so happy.”
Leigh beamed, clapping her hands. “That’s the best story, Papa!”
Nikolai smiled, his gaze lingering on Bran. “It is, isn’t it? The best story, because it’s ours.”
Bran leaned over, pressing a kiss to Nikolai’s temple before turning back to Leigh. “And you, little one, are our favorite chapter.”
Leigh giggled, squirming between them. Nikolai scooped up the last bit of yogurt from the bowl and held it out to her, chuckling as she eagerly devoured it.
“Alright, little princess,” Nikolai said, his voice filled with affection. “Now, off to bed. Tomorrow, your papa and I will tell you another story.”
.......
Taglist:
@lanterns-and-daydreams
Brandon King had always known that Nikolai Sokolov was it for him. There was no question in his mind, no hesitation in his heart. Nikolai had ruined him for anyone else. There would be no other, no alternative, no second choice—just Nikolai, with his sharp grin, easy laughter, and eyes that saw straight through him.
But Brandon was a coward.
He had never once said it aloud. Not the way he should. Not with the kind of conviction that Nikolai deserved. Instead, he had let the words rot inside his chest, let them fester beneath the weight of his own fears.
So he kept Nikolai in the shadows.
He pretended not to notice the flash of hurt in Nikolai’s eyes when he said, “Pretend you don’t know me in public.”
He convinced himself that Nikolai’s goofiness afterward meant he was fine, that he didn’t mind, that he understood why Brandon needed to keep them a secret.
He ignored how Nikolai would practically light up when someone casually asked, “Are you two together?” only for that light to die the second Brandon laughed and brushed it off with a, “We’re just friends.”
He acted like he didn’t see the way Nikolai’s shoulders slumped whenever he pulled his hand away in public, as if being seen with Nikolai was some kind of sin.
But he did see.
Brandon saw it all.
It was in the quiet moments, when no one was around, that the weight of his actions pressed down on him the hardest. When they were alone in his apartment, tangled up in sheets and silence, Nikolai would look at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, like he was Brandon’s, and Brandon was his, and that nothing else mattered.
Brandon knew he had that look too, the one that told the truth even when his mouth spewed lies.
He knew because Nikolai wasn’t stupid.
And that was what made it all worse.
Nikolai knew. He had to know. Because he stayed. He stayed even though Brandon treated him like a dirty secret. He stayed even though Brandon denied him in public. He stayed even though he deserved better.
And Brandon?
Brandon was selfish enough to let him.
It wasn’t until one night, when Nikolai was sleeping beside him, his face soft in the dim glow of the city lights, that the realization hit Brandon like a fist to the gut.
If he lost him—if one day, Nikolai decided he was done waiting, done hoping, done pretending that it didn’t hurt—Brandon would break. He would shatter into something unfixable. Because this wasn’t just some passing thing. This wasn’t just love.
This was forever.
And Brandon was the one ruining it.
The idea of losing Nikolai?
That was the one thing that terrified him.
It wasn’t enough to love him in the quiet.
It wasn’t enough to keep him behind closed doors.
Because love wasn’t meant to be hidden. It wasn’t meant to be whispered in the dark and ignored in the light.
And if Brandon didn’t do something—if he didn’t fix this—he was going to lose the one thing in this world he could never replace.
The question was: did he have the courage to fight for it?
Or would he let his fear be the thing that destroyed them?
…………………
Nikolai has always known that Brandon King was a coward.
A beautiful, brilliant, maddening coward.
And yet, Nikolai would wait. He would wait forever if he had to.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t see it—the hesitation in Brandon’s eyes before he pulled away, the way his laughter sounded just a little too forced when he denied their relationship in public, the way his fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long before slipping out of Nikolai’s grasp as if being seen with him was a sin. Nikolai wasn’t a fool. He saw it all. He felt it all.
But he never said a word.
Because for every moment of hesitation, there was another where Brandon looked at him like he was the only thing that made sense in this world. There were the nights where they lay tangled together, where Bran kissed him like he would die without him, where he whispered "mine" against Nikolai’s lips like it was a prayer. And wasn’t that enough? Wasn’t that real?
But then morning would come. And Brandon would step back into the perfect little world of the Kings, and Nikolai would once again become the secret. The unsaid.
"We’re just friends."
Brandon would laugh, easy and careless, whenever someone asked.
And Nikolai would feel something inside him crack—sharp and painful—before he forced a grin, matching Bran’s energy, as if it didn’t fucking hurt. As if his heart didn’t splinter every time.
But still, he stayed.
Because Brandon was the only person who had ever felt like home. The only person he had ever loved with the full, unrelenting force of himself. And if waiting was the price to pay, if being hidden was the cost, then so be it.
He would endure. He would be patient.
Because one day, Bran would wake up and realize.
One day, Bran would see that Nikolai wasn’t just some secret to be kept.
He was the forever that Brandon was too afraid to claim.
And Nikolai? He would wait for that day. He would wait forever.
……………….
Nikolai had dragged Brandon to this café, like always, because he was craving something sweet. Like always.
Bran had just rolled his eyes, muttering something about Niko’s addiction to sugar, but still followed without complaint. Because, really, when had he ever denied Nikolai anything?
The scent of freshly baked pastries filled the air as they settled into a corner booth. Nikolai, as usual, was already eyeing the dessert menu like it held the secrets of the universe.
A few minutes later, the waiter—a bright-eyed girl with bouncing energy—came to take their order.
Nikolai was halfway through debating between a chocolate lava cake and a strawberry shortcake when she suddenly squealed.
"Oh my God! You guys are a couple, right? You look so cute together!"
Nikolai stilled.
His heart clenched, his fingers tightening around the menu, but he didn’t look up. He knew what came next. He always did.
"We’re just frie—"
Except, the words never came.
Instead, he felt something warm—solid, grounding—enclosing his hand. Brandon’s hand.
"Yeah," Bran said, voice casual, but there was something in it—something steady, unshakable. "He’s my boyfriend."
Nikolai snapped his head toward him so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
What.
He must’ve misheard. Right?
But no—there was Bran, completely relaxed, fingers laced through his like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like this wasn’t the first time he had ever acknowledged Nikolai as his.
The waiter exploded into fangirling, gushing about how adorable they were, how she knew it the moment she saw them, how they totally gave off soulmate energy.
Nikolai didn’t hear any of it.
He was too busy short-circuiting.
Because—Brandon King just called him his boyfriend. In public. With actual witnesses.
Nikolai was still frozen even after their desserts arrived, still blinking at Bran in stunned silence
From the moment the words left his mouth—"Yeah, he’s my boyfriend"—Brandon knew there was no going back.
And maybe he should’ve done this a long time ago.
Because seeing Nikolai’s usual confident, playful smirk wiped off his face—replaced with genuine shock, awe, and the softest pink dusting his cheeks—was something Bran knew he would remember forever.
But the best part?
He wasn’t done yet.
The entire day, Bran made sure Nikolai knew exactly what he meant by those words.
It started small.
Then, when they walked out of the café, Bran interwined their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And Nikolai? The Nikolai Sokolov?
Tripped over his own feet.
Bran caught him easily, biting back a smirk. "Careful, baby."
Niko choked.
The rest of the day was even worse.
Bran held his hand whenever he got the chance. Opened doors for him. Tugged him close.
When they stopped by a street vendor, he casually fed Niko a bite of his crepe, not even thinking twice about it.
Nikolai, on the other hand, was not okay.
"You—you—you’re doing this on purpose," Niko accused, looking like his brain had fully short-circuited.
Bran tilted his head. "Doing what?"
"This! The—" Niko waved his hands in the air, as if trying to capture whatever sorcery Bran was pulling. "The boyfriend treatment!"
Bran pretended to think about it. Then, he smirked. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
Niko opened his mouth, then closed it. His ears were so red now, they could rival a fire truck.
Bran leaned in, voice dropping into a soft murmur. "You’ve waited long enough, haven’t you, Niko?"
And for the first time ever, Nikolai Sokolov was left speechless.