May Dance

— Fedya! What are you doing in a posh place like this?       Nikolai's face is covered with a mask, like the rest of the people. The masquerade ball held at his parents' house, although magnificent, was quite solemn. He smiles broadly.       His usually disheveled golden hair is now elegantly smoothed, like a noble prince. But there was the same laughter in his eyes. He looks at Fyodor in the mask. — Come on! Let's dance.       He leans forward and holds out his hand.       Fyodor looked at him calmly, without losing his trademark composure. He could have asked him the same question, because his friend, if you can call him that, rarely appeared at such events. However, he wasn't in the habit of asking such tactless questions. He smiled slightly at him, recognizing him in any guise. After some hesitation, he extended his hand to him, accepting his offer.       Nikolai pulled Fyodor with him into the very center of the ballroom. The violin began to play a waltz at a rather fast pace. Nikolai began to gently circle him in the dance. He looked into his eyes with a wide smile. Fyodor did not look away.       Nikolai spoke with a strong French accent, which he had acquired due to his long years of living abroad. — Fedenka... You dance like in a dream. Although I'm a little behind in training. Please forgive me if I step on your feet.       Fyodor smiled at him uncertainly. That was the whole point of his friend, who doesn't really think about other people's opinions. It was so charming, though not very polite. He hugged him a little tighter, as if in the framework of a dance. Although within the framework of the dance, young people should not dance with each other at all. So ironic. He calmly replied to him: — There's nothing wrong with that.       But it confused him a little.       They are spinning in a rather elegant dance for two. Nikolai notices that Fyodor is a little uneasy. He hugs him a little tighter. He circles it even faster. Some of the other dancers stop and look at them. Some of them grin or raise their eyebrows. Such a pair of dancers could not fail to attract attention. A slender but powerfully built young man, the son of an important collegiate assessor, with hair like wheat ears. And a thin, almost painfully pale boy, who looked like a raven, with the stigma of the son of a retired official who had drunk his entire fortune. Not a couple to dance with, but they didn't seem to think about it at all.       Fyodor blushed slightly, he felt almost like a thief caught in the act. And although it wasn't his fault at all, he wasn't very happy with what was happening. He awkwardly wiped his sweaty palms with a handkerchief, trying to look at ease. But the blush that stood out strangely on his pale face was out of place. Struggling with embarrassment, he clung to him, trembling slightly.       Nikolai hugs Fyodor tightly and circles him even faster.The other dancers look at them and whisper to each other. Some of them giggle. — Fedenka, my friend... Let's give the others an unforgettable evening.       The violin plays faster, the dancers clap to the beat. Nikolai continues to circle around Fyodor. Now they were the center of attention.       This evening, most likely, will be unforgettable for him. Fyodor, with all his desire, would not call himself a secular person. He did not reveal this desire in himself. But his friend's enthusiasm had clearly awakened something in him. Perhaps there has always been a youthful gamble in him, too. So clumsy, so unusual, but, oddly enough, funny. Seizing on this confidence that everything would be fine today, he began to dance with him more confidently. Only today and only now could he afford it.       Nikolai smiled broadly when he saw Fyodor blush. He whirled him around even more, and the entire ballroom seemed to blur in front of both of them.       Nikolai laughed a loud, piercing laugh. He didn't care what the other dancers thought of him.       An elderly lady approached them. She held the hand of her five-year-old grandson and watched them incredulously. She was a tall woman in her seventies who had not lost the energy of her body and spirit. Her gray hair was tied up in a simple but elegant hairstyle. The green dress strangely set off her emerald eyes, which seemed almost snake-like in the candlelight. And she didn't like what she saw now. — Nikolai! What the hell are you doing?! You're putting yourself in an awkward position.       Fedor felt too keenly that this crazy dance was over. Somehow too fast for him. He exhaled slowly, gathering his strength. After some hesitation, he looked away from his friend. He didn't know where to look at all. After all, he was afraid to look at the elderly woman for fear of angering her. So he stared at the floor, feeling awkward.       The elderly woman sighed incredulously. Almost everyone in the hall shuddered synchronously. No one would dare to annoy her — Sofya Yuryevna, although she was not officially the head of the family, invisibly ruled over her feeble-minded son. — You should be ashamed of yourself, my boy. So dance in public. Especially with another man, and even with such a status!       Nikolai looked at her in confusion. His face was still covered by a mask. — Do you know what year it is, Grandma? Almost 1850. Dancing with another man is not a shame at all!       Nikolai looked at Fyodor with a broad smile. — Isn't that true, Fedenka?       Fyodor started up when a friend addressed him. The situation was extremely strange and incomprehensible. It went beyond the bounds of public decency, which he tried to adhere to. And yet, at this moment, he didn't feel so guilty. Deciding not to abandon him in such a situation, he quickly nodded to him.       The elderly woman looked at him with disappointment. She simply ignored Fyodor's existence, didn't even look at him. Her gaze was directed only at her grandson. In the green eyes, which were lighter than her own, she saw the confidence in her words. — And you... do you really think so?       Nikolai looked at her with unusual seriousness, not as usual. She was impressed. — Fyodor is my friend. We've known each other for almost two years. Yes, our paths in life diverge, but, of course, I'm not ashamed to call him my friend.       Fyodor felt it... such great respect for him that I couldn't help but look at him with a sense of gratitude.