Dangerous as it was to close his eyes, Illya finds that he had all the same. Had attempted to pull so far back into his jacket and away from the strange boy he stands now with his back against the wall behind him.
But there is no pain, and in the seconds that tick onward he steels himself and peeks to see when, or from what direction it might strike instead. What he remembers is not schoolyard taunts that can be shrugged off or even the pushing and shoving that belongs to juvenile attempts to sort out the hierarchy among the boys in his year. In the school. No, he remembers blood tacky on his face and one eye swollen closed after one particularly brutal beating. The snort of breath of his teacher's upon his inspection after. The knowledge they were disappointed he could scrape himself up again and return to the classroom.
He is no less cautious in watching the boy, but the lack of venom in that voice, as well as the distance he'd placed between them, allows Illya to breathe a little easier.
Russian children were not subterfuge in their hate, and so Illya finds no certainty in what to expect. But the world is too frightening and strange around them, and if he has learned nothing else in his life, he has learned to answer those who speak his language. "I can?" he asks, tentative and unsure. "It is safer there?"
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But there is no pain, and in the seconds that tick onward he steels himself and peeks to see when, or from what direction it might strike instead. What he remembers is not schoolyard taunts that can be shrugged off or even the pushing and shoving that belongs to juvenile attempts to sort out the hierarchy among the boys in his year. In the school. No, he remembers blood tacky on his face and one eye swollen closed after one particularly brutal beating. The snort of breath of his teacher's upon his inspection after. The knowledge they were disappointed he could scrape himself up again and return to the classroom.
He is no less cautious in watching the boy, but the lack of venom in that voice, as well as the distance he'd placed between them, allows Illya to breathe a little easier.
Russian children were not subterfuge in their hate, and so Illya finds no certainty in what to expect. But the world is too frightening and strange around them, and if he has learned nothing else in his life, he has learned to answer those who speak his language. "I can?" he asks, tentative and unsure. "It is safer there?"