Notes

Artyom is a huge lump of jealousy and fear. Artyom adores Igor, is jealous over him at every pole, because he is afraid. He is too afraid of losing Igor, of finding out that he has chosen someone else and will now smile at HIM, kiss HIM, and belong to HIM. And inside immediately something unpleasant and slimy rose up. Jealousy was literally suffocating him, fogging his mind, and it sometimes got to the point of absurdity.

Akinfeev frowns, plays with his cheeks, and frowns at Dzyuba's skewed face.
"I told you," Akinfeev hisses, grabbing his arm and throwing his head up. "Stop it! Stop being jealous over me. It's stupid!"
"Stupid?" Dzyuba gasps, gritting his teeth indignantly. "And why the hell are you flirting with everyone?"
"I'm not flirting with anybody!" Akinfeev exclaims.
He is angry because he is so tired. Tired of Artyom's groundless jealousy. Igor is so burdened by this, it takes away his strength.
"Flirting," Dzyuba mutters under his breath offensively, snatching his hand away. "I can see that."
"That's it," Igor whispers tiredly, retreating. "I'm fed up. I'll spend the night in a hotel, and in the morning, the first flight out. Have a nice game with San Marino and Cyprus."
The door slams surprisingly loudly, and everything inside Artyom seems to freeze with fear and shatter like glass. He exhausts Igor with his jealousy, quarrels with him over it, and is afraid to hear the six worst words for himself each time. "I'm sick of it! I'm leaving you! Goodbye!" And now, too, he listened to Igor holding his breath in fear, listening, forgetting to breathe. And without hearing, he sank, settling to the floor.
"He didn't say it. He didn't say goodbye," Artyom whispered in relief, pressing his forehead against the floor.

"Well, I'm sorry, but you're an idiot," Vanya concludes, boyishly straightforward.
"What do you mean?" Dzyuba was confused, translating his gaze to the running Oblyakov.
"Exactly what I said," frowns Oblyakov. "You have offended our captain."
"How nice," grinned Dzyuba crookedly, feeling something dark and unpleasant awaken inside. "And why such concern for Igor? In love?"
"He's like an older brother to me," assured Oblyakov, looking straight into the other man's eyes. "He's our captain, for whom we are ready to go into the fire, even into the water."
"Commendable," Artem nods, stopping. "But mind your own business, boy."
"I do not meddle!" Vanya bravely, though a tremor is felt in his voice. "I only warn you not to offend."
"Don't warn," Artyom shakes his head, putting his hand on Vanya's shoulder and smiling in such a way that a chill runs down the boy's back. "It's not safe. For you."
Artyom ran on, leaving a stunned Ivan behind, not even turning around to see his reaction.

Artyom once again dialed the same number, long ingrained in his memory. But the caller was "out of range and..." Didn't want to answer. Fuck! What a stubborn man. Always sulking, although for so much time and could get used to it. And then that video from the winter training camp came out. Dad? Dad, damn it.
Dzyuba squeezes the phone, which begins to rattle and the glass may be about to crack. But the national team captain ignores the pleas of the poor gadget, his thoughts are occupied only by the ease with which Igor calls himself dad and how boldly he behaves as if he pushes, teases someone. But who? Artem? So now he is so damn close to breaking away from Novogorsk to go to Akinfeev.
There's a knock on the door unabashedly and Artyom is distracted from the unhappy thoughts that are poisoning his mind. He gets out of bed, shoves the phone to the wall, and goes to open it.
"Hi," Ilzat smiles, looking stiff.
"Uh-huh," Artyom nods, still smiling, too. "What are you doing here?"
"Um, I wanted to talk about Igor," Ilzat starts, looking at his hands. "Please don't do anything stupid. Apologize."
"What's the big deal," Artyom says angrily, leaning toward the other man's face. "What are your motives?"
"I..." Ilzat is at a loss, ducking backward. "I just want Igor to smile. To be happy."
"I also want him to be happy," Dzyuba smiles bitterly, instantly losing his former fervor. "I want to make him happy, but ... But I can't do anything about jealousy."
"Shall I come in?" Akhmetov suddenly asks.
"Go ahead," says Dzyuba indifferently, stepping away from the door and plopping down on the bed. "If there is anything else to say, of course."
"There is," assures Akhmetov, freezing in front of the forward. "Maybe I know a lot less about your relationship than Kirill Anatolyevich, but ... He always remembers you with a smile, talks about how much fun you had in the National Team, how ridiculous you look in goal, how you gave that speech, how sincerely you cried on air, and how he cherishes every second by your side. So..."
Ilzat pauses for a moment, choosing his words and catching his breath. This gives Artyom some time to digest what he has heard, to understand the depth of these words.
"So just understand that you are so important to him that he looks at no one else but you and tolerates your jealousy only because he loves you and is also afraid of losing you," Ilzat says quickly as if he is giving away someone's secret and immediately runs away as soon as he says everything.
Dzyuba's lips and hands tremble, Akhmetov's words strike a chord in his head. How silly. How silly from the outside his jealousy that even boys like Ilzat and Vanya notice and interfere.
Artyom covers his face with his palms, sighing heavily. He can't help it. He can't stand idly watching Igor talk to someone and not feel the aching and burning his chest at the same time. The picture of Akinfeev kissing someone else, of him, snuggling in someone else's arms, and from somewhere bubbling jealousy rises, covering his eyes with a red veil and making him clench his fists so hard that his nails dig into his palm and make the blood flow. They say that it takes the bad blood to drain out, and it seems that Artem has all five liters of it, because no matter how much he restrains himself, seeing Akinfeev chatting merrily with another, jealousy again swallows his consciousness and chokes him, whispering vilely in his ear: "NOT YOURS NOW!".
Dzyuba clutches his hands over his ears, frantically whispering that this is all just a figment of his imagination, because Akinfeev never left him, yelling at him, crashing his apartment with him in the heat of a fight, slamming the door, flying out into the street. But then he always came back, calm and quiet. Snuggled up to Artyom, asked for forgiveness for his violent reaction, listening to how Dzyuba was sorry and that he would no longer be jealous, that he would no longer doubt Akinfeev's loyalty. Igor smiles so tenderly and sadly that his heart shrinks with tenderness. Artyom puts his palms on Igor's cheeks, presses his lips, waiting for him to take this step, a step over the line, where there is no way back. And Akinfeev does, presses against Dzyuba's lips, sliding his palm to the back of his head. And Dzyuba takes some incomprehensible pleasure in the obedience with which Akinfeev then gives himself to him, how he surrenders his heart and body without a trace.

The horn sounds again and Dzyuba is about to give up trying as he hears such a tired and beloved voice.
"Why are you calling me so intrusively?" Akinfeev gets indignant. "I've had enough."
"Oh, no! Stop talking. I'll never get enough of you so that you'll leave," smiles Artyom, feeling much relieved in his heart as soon as he picks up the phone.
"Let's say," Igor sighs. "But what do you want? And for your information, I haven't forgiven you."
"Not yet," Artyom said without a doubt, making his voice pallid. "Well, kitty, I can't help it. You're so attractive, I want to take you home and not let you out."
"Damn possessive," Igor snorted. "So, more apologies and promises that you won't do it again?"
"No," Artyom shook his head. "I will. I'll always be jealous of everyone and everything about my cat. Because I love you, and I don't want to give you to anyone."
"Even so?" Igor is surprised. "Well, at least it's honest. And now I have to put up with you and your shenanigans?"
"Of course," Artyom laughs. "Because you love me, too."
"Shit," Igor exhaled, sounding like he was sinking down on the bed. "Then don't you dare make out with anyone else there. Because I'll see and I'll castrate you."
"Okay," Artyom grins broadly, imagining a jealous goalie. "You're sexy when you're angry."
"Go to hell!" Akinfeev answers embarrassedly, raising his voice.
"No, I'd rather go to you," grinned Dzyuba. "You're in only your underpants now, you've already gone to bed, I'm the only one missing."
"Pervert," concludes Akinfeev, hanging up.
"Shy," laughs Dzyuba.