Love Me, Don't Fix Me

They walked into Andrew's tiny studio apartment, their arms overloaded with grocery bags. Nova had insisted on carrying more than her fair share, even though Andrew had tried to take most of them. The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open with his foot, letting her step inside first. The scent of dust and old wood greeted them, warm but tired. A single window let in the fading orange light of dusk, casting a soft glow across the room.

"Okay, where do I put these?" Nova asked, glancing around.

"Uh… anywhere there's space," Andrew replied, sounding a little sheepish. He cleared a few books off the small table near the kitchenette. Nova placed her bags down, followed by Andrew, who exhaled deeply.

She looked around. The space was small—too small for someone with dreams so big. There was a modest bed tucked into a corner, a pile of books and notepads next to it, a makeshift shelf of textbooks, and a tiny kitchen that looked like it had been pieced together with willpower and duct tape.

"You live here alone?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

He nodded. "Yeah. Just me."

"It has character. And it's clean. I've seen worse," she said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Andrew chuckled softly. "Thanks… I think."

After unpacking the groceries—cans of soup, fresh fruit, bags of rice, instant noodles, toiletries, soap, and everything in between—Nova reached into one of the bags and pulled out a small black case.

"What's that?" Andrew asked.

She smirked. "Hair clippers. You're getting a haircut tonight."

Andrew blinked. "Wait, what? Now?"

"Yep. You said it yourself—you haven't had one in weeks. And besides, I've always wanted to try cutting someone's hair. I promise not to make you look like a scarecrow."

He gave her a skeptical look. "That's reassuring."

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the lone chair in the room.

Still unsure, Andrew sat. Nova draped a towel over his shoulders and plugged in the clippers. She studied his thick, unruly curls and ruffled them a little before starting. As she worked, trimming slowly and carefully, silence settled between them again—but it was anything but empty.

Andrew sat still, trying not to flinch every time she tugged gently at a lock of hair. The sensation of someone touching his head, brushing strands away from his forehead, and occasionally pausing to laugh softly when a curl didn't behave—it was new. Intimate.

He had never let anyone into his life like this. Or maybe no one had ever barged in like Nova had. She didn't knock—she just walked in with her laugh, her stubborn generosity, and her chaos. And now she was standing in the middle of his tiny apartment, giving him a haircut like they had been friends for years.

He wanted to believe it was real.

But deep down, a dark thought lingered—maybe it only felt easy now because she didn't know. She didn't know what had happened. She didn't know about the fire. About the way his baby brother had burned, and then drowned. How the water hadn't saved him. How Andrew had screamed until his throat gave out. And how, after the police and paramedics never came that night, every adult had quietly walked away from the case, from him, from justice.

People thought it was stupid—his fear of water. They teased him, mocked him. Even his foster families called him weird. So he learned to hide it. To swallow the panic. To never let it show.

And what if Nova found out? Would she laugh too? Would she leave?

But even if she didn't… she would find out. Eventually. That kind of truth always crawled to the surface.

He'd just have to wait until he was ready. Until he knew what they really were. Friends? Something more?

For now, he'd let her stay. Let her exist in the calm before the storm. Because somehow, in this messy moment, she made things feel less heavy.

"Done," Nova announced, stepping back.

Andrew stood up and glanced in the mirror. She had done a decent job—clean edges, neat curls, nothing too crazy.

"Huh," he said, genuinely impressed. "Not bad."

"I told you I wouldn't turn you into a scarecrow," she said proudly.

"No, you didn't. You said you'd try."

She laughed, and for a moment, the world outside his apartment ceased to matter. Just her laughter, the smell of fresh groceries, and the sound of his heart, quietly daring to hope.

Maybe this, whatever it was, had a chance.

Just as the last lock of Andrew's hair fell to the floor, Nova's phone buzzed sharply from inside her purse. She groaned and rolled her eyes, already dreading what she was about to see. She leaned over, pulled the phone out, and glanced at the screen.

"Shit."

Andrew, who had been admiring his new reflection in the cracked mirror above his kitchen sink, turned to look at her. "What's wrong?"

Nova bit her lip. "It's my dad. I'm way past curfew."

Andrew blinked. "Curfew? Like… an actual curfew?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, my father still treats me like I'm fifteen and not legally an adult," she muttered, swiping to answer the call. She turned her back slightly, tucking her phone between her ear and shoulder as she ran a hand through her curls.

"Hey, Dad," she said as lightly as she could.

"Where are you?" came Nikolai's low, clipped voice. It wasn't angry—yet. But it was the kind of calm that came right before a storm.

Nova winced. "Uhm… I'm with a friend. Just hanging out. Totally safe. No kidnapping. No crime scenes. No shady nightclubs."

"Nova."

"Yes?"

"Come home."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. Curfew. Remember?"

She sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. I'm on my way."

The line went dead.

She dropped the phone into her bag and slumped forward. "I have to go before my dad comes storming in here like he's still the Bratva heir and not a suburban father who drinks herbal tea after dinner."

Andrew blinked at her. "Would he actually come here?"

Nova snorted. "Are you kidding? If he knew I was at a guy's apartment alone—he would absolutely come here. Possibly armed. And you…" She pointed at him with a teasing glare. "You would not survive the first three seconds."

Andrew's face paled. "Oh… that's… very reassuring."

Nova grinned as she stood up and brushed herself off. "Don't worry. You're still alive, which means you've already made it further than most."

"Well, that's… comforting?"

She laughed, and for a moment the air was warm again. She looked around at the small apartment, at the groceries now tucked neatly into the cabinets, at the loose strands of hair on the floor, at Andrew—his posture still a bit stiff, but his expression softer.

"You'll be okay, you know," she said, her voice quieting just a little. "Whatever's going on, you don't have to deal with it alone."

Andrew met her gaze. Something flickered in his eyes—appreciation maybe, or fear of hope.

"Thanks," he said simply.

She gave him a wink, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. "Now pray my dad doesn't follow my location with a satellite."

Before he could respond, she was out the door.

And Andrew was left standing there, freshly groomed, feeling more seen than he had in years—and more terrified of Nova's father than he'd ever admit aloud.

Nova parked her car on the driveway, the engine humming low before she turned it off. She leaned her head back against the seat and let out a heavy sigh. Her fingers tapped nervously against the steering wheel before her eyes drifted to the two small shopping bags in the passenger seat.

Inside one was Elara's favorite Belgian dark chocolate—the fancy kind with hints of raspberry and orange zest. In the other, a wrapped box with a sleek silver ribbon. Inside was a vintage pocket watch for Nikolai, something rare she'd stumbled across in a small collector's store. She figured if she was going to get yelled at for staying out late and breaking curfew, she might as well arm herself with bribes.

Not that it would work.

Nikolai Volkov did not accept bribes.

Correction—he took bribes, but the punishment still followed. He just did both.

She stepped out of the car, grabbed the bags, and made her way up the stone path to the front door. It was already past 7 p.m. The lights were on, and through the large window, she could see the warm glow of the living room. Her heart pounded a little faster. She braced herself as she entered.

The scent of vanilla and citrus candles wrapped around her as she pushed the door open. Elara was seated on the cream-colored couch, curled up with a throw blanket and a thick paperback novel in her lap. The cover read: Russian for Dummies.

Nova blinked. "You're seriously trying again?" she said, setting down the chocolate on the coffee table.

Elara looked up from her book with a grin. "Third time's the charm."

Nova laughed. "You say that every time. You got past the greetings section this time?"

"I'm halfway through verbs," Elara said proudly, then glanced at the chocolate. "What's this?"

"Your favorite," Nova said, pushing it toward her. "A peace offering."

Elara raised a brow. "Uh-huh. What did you do now?"

"Nothing illegal," Nova said with a shrug. "Just curfew violation… again."

Elara tore open the wrapper with a smirk. "If your father sees me eating this, he'll go on another lecture about sugar and prenatal health. He's convinced too much chocolate is a one-way ticket to a thousand complications."

"Where is he?" Nova asked, scanning the room.

"Upstairs trying to get Andrei to sleep," Elara said, popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth. "Or at least trying not to lose his mind in the process."

Nova nodded, her fingers curling around the gift box still in her hands. "Wish me luck."

Elara gave her a look. "You're gonna need more than luck, sweetheart."

---

Nova crept upstairs as quietly as she could, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that lined the hallway. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of a lullaby playing from Andrei's room. She approached slowly, just in time to see Nikolai pulling the door gently shut behind him.

He was barefoot, wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair tousled slightly from where Andrei had probably tugged at it. He turned and nearly bumped into her.

His dark eyes narrowed the moment he saw her.

"Where were you?" he asked, voice low but sharp.

"I was just out," Nova said cautiously. "I'm sorry I'm late."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned slightly closer and sniffed the air.

Nova stepped back instinctively. "What?"

"You smell like cheap cologne," he said, his jaw tightening. "A guy's."

Nova blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Dad, seriously?"

"I also got a call from one of my men. He saw you at the convenience store… with a boy. Tall. Curly-haired. Not from your usual circle."

She swallowed hard. "That's Andrew."

He folded his arms. "And who is Andrew?"

"A friend. Just a friend."

Nikolai let out a cold breath. "You don't have friends like him, Nova. You never have."

Nova's brows knitted together. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't hang out with broke baristas who can barely take care of themselves, let alone be trusted with someone like you."

Nova's eyes flashed. "Wow. So now you're judging him because of where he works?"

"No," Nikolai said firmly. "I'm judging him because he's not from this world. He doesn't know how to protect you. He's not safe."

"He's not dangerous either!" she shot back. "He's just… kind. And honest. And different. Isn't that what you and mom always wanted for me? A normal life?"

Nikolai's eyes softened for the briefest second. "We wanted you safe."

Nova's voice dropped, trembling slightly. "And you think he'll hurt me?"

"I think he won't know how to keep you from getting hurt," Nikolai said. "That's worse."

She stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest.

"I told you where I was. I didn't lie. I didn't sneak off. I just—"

"You just what?"

Nova held up the gift box between them. "I got you this. I thought it might soften the mood."

He didn't take it.

"I'm not mad about the curfew," he said. "I'm telling you not to see that boy again."

Nova's breath caught. "What?"

"You heard me. No more spending time with him."

"Why?"

Nikolai didn't answer. He turned and started walking away, his footsteps steady and deliberate.

"Dad!" Nova called after him. "Why? Just give me a reason!"

He paused at the top of the stairs. "Because it's for your own good."

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the dim hallway, the gift still clutched in her hands, and her heart caught somewhere between rebellion and heartbreak.