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It took them less than an hour. First stopping at the Polissya hotel to retrieve Sitnikov’s things and pay for his stay, then heading to Dyatlov’s flat. All that time they were mostly silent. The atmosphere between them calm, but at the same time filled with tense anticipation.
Dyatlov watched his younger friend from the doorway of his living room when he wandered inside. He followed the way Anatoly’s gaze moved over the furniture, the paintings on the walls, the scattered newspapers on the table. Finally, his eyes stopped on the cabinet filled with books, and he took a few steps closer, his hand lifting instinctively. Dyatlov couldn’t stop a smile. Tolka, as always, was drawn to knowledge.
But then he realised that Anatoly was not reaching for a book.
In his hand he held a small frame with black-and-white photograph. Dyatlov had owned it for years, keeping it like a quiet memorial - the only thing he had left of his friend after he’d left.
The photo showed the two of them together. They were younger then, maybe four or five years ago, at the shipyard in Komsomolsk-on-Amur. One of their colleagues had just gotten hold of a camera and had been documenting everything he could. They were walking back from the break room, laughing at something. Dyatlov’s arm was slung around Anatoly’s shoulders as he looked down at him, while Anatoly was looking back up at him. Both of them wore wide, unguarded smiles. They hadn’t even known the photo was taken - not until much later, when Dyatlov had been handed that very picture.
‘I had no idea you still had it.’ said Sitnikov, his soft voice cracking slightly.
He carefully placed the frame back on the shelf, his fingers lingering for a moment on the smiling faces - younger, unburdened, with fewer worry lines and no silver in their hair. Simply happy.
Dyatlov stepped closer, looking at the photograph over his shoulder.
‘It’s the most valuable thing I own.’ he said quietly, honestly.
He rested his hands on Anatoly’s shoulders, slowly sliding them down his arms. His chest brushed against Anatoly’s back as he took another step forward, leaning his forehead against the back of his head. Eyes closed, he breathed in the familiar scent. He had missed him so much it had hurt physically, and the relief of seeing him again unlocked something deep inside him.
‘Tolka,‘ he whispered, his arms shifting to wrap around Anatoly’s chest in a gentle embrace. ‘You have to tell me I’m right.’ his lips brushed the side of Anatoly’s neck, just below his ear. ‘That we’re both feeling the same way.’
He felt Anatoly shiver and heard his breath catch. He placed his hands over Dyatlov’s forearms, pulling them closer.
‘Yes.’ he whispered with a smile. ‘Yes we are.’
He leaned his head back against Dyatlov’s shoulder. Anatoly smiled too, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, finally feeling whole for the first time since leaving. The emptiness inside him was filled with his presence. He nuzzled into the crook of his neck and closed his eyes, savouring the closeness.
He couldn’t help thinking about how blind he was. He’d roamed around the entire country, searching for God knows what, when it turned out that he left the most important thing, the most vital part of himself, in a place he’d run away from. In Komsomolsk he left his heart. He couldn’t believe how he didn’t know sooner how much that sweet, always smiling, dark haired man meant to him. But he guessed - you really had to loose something to learn its value.
He remembered feelings that were his constant companion when the first excitement faded. He was miserable, empty and terribly lonely, no matter how many new people he met. None of them were his Tolka.
His hands moved from the younger man’s chest lower, finding support on his hips, and he gently turned him around. Anatoly faced him now, dark eyes were bright with unshed tears yet he was smiling. Dyatlov felt as the man’s arms settle around his waist, drawing him closer. They were looking in each other’s eyes as the distance between them disappeared. Their foreheads touched, eyes closed. Their hearts beat in the same rhythm. The air between them sparked.
Then he leaned in. The kiss was soft and warm - a brush of lips that felt like coming home. It felt right.
It was a single, short brush, before he withdrew slightly. But it was enough to stole their breath, leaving their hearts racing.
With one hand still on Sitnikov’s hip he guided him backwards until his back met the bookshelf. His other hand slid to the side of Anatoly’s neck, fingers brushing the hair at his nape as he lifted his chin and kissed him again - this time with intention.
Anatoly let out a quiet groan, responding without hesitation. What had begun innocent and tentative quickly deepened, their lips moving together with growing urgency. The feeling was overwhelming - sweet and consuming all at once.
The room remained silent. The only sounds were their uneven breathing and the soft, wet press of their lips.
Dyatlov was the first to slow, resting his forehead against Sitnikov’s. His hand stayed warm and steady at his waist, anchoring them both. He wanted to remember this - not just the desire, but the closeness. The certainty.
Anatoly opened his eyes. The tears disappeared, they were holding something gentler now. Relief. Quiet happiness. That familiar softness Dyatlov had missed long before he knew.
‘You’re really here. I found you .’ he whispered. Dyatlov smiled. Small and tender, and he brushed a slow kiss against his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m here.’ he said softly. ‘And I’m not leaving again.’
Anatoly’s fingers tightened at his waist for a brief moment, then relaxed. He leaned his head back against the shelf, letting out a quiet, breathless laugh.
‘When you left…’ he started, his quiet voice cracking slightly. ‘You took more of myself than I realised.’
‘I know.’ whispered Dyatlov and leaned in, his lips brushing softly his forehead. He understood him because he was there too. He left a part of himself with Anatoly, two years ago. ‘I’m sorry I left.’ he added and Anatoly shook his head gently.
‘You had to. I understand that.’ he said simply. ‘We’re here now. That’s what matters.’
They stayed like that - close, breathing together. Hearts beating in sync. Finally whole. Eventually Sitnikov shifted first, rolling his shoulders back and adjusting his stance. Dyatlov let out a quiet chuckle.
‘You still do that.’ he said. Anatoly frowned slightly, giving him a questioning look. ‘You roll your shoulders and head when you’re tired.’ he replied, his palms sliding up to Anatoly’s neck, gently working the tense muscles. ‘You used to do it during night shifts. You’d pretend you weren’t exhausted, and end up half-asleep on my shoulder.’ he said with a crooked smile. Anatoly chuckled under his breath and leaned his head against his friend’s chest.
‘Do you think it’ll be strange?’ Sitnikov asked after a moment. The sound of his voice muffled by the fabric of Dyatlov’s shirt. ‘Working together again?’ Dyatlov considered it for a second.
‘No.’ he said simply. ‘We’ve always worked well together. Looking out for each other.’
‘Yeah, you always had my back.’ said Anatoly with a smile, remembering many times it happened in the past.
‘And you always reminded me to eat.’ added Dyatlov. ‘And sleep. And not take everything so seriously.’ he added lowered his voice. ‘It was never just about work’
Anatoly looked back at him, his eyes soft. He met his gaze. Silent understanding passed between them. That whatever shape their friendship will take from now on, it was build on solid ground. On something familiar.
They would talk about it more in the future, that much was certain. But for now, the silence was enough. For once, the moment asked for nothing more.
They had finally found their home.
Because it’s true what they’re saying. Home is where your heart is.