We're Friends.

. . .

"Where were you? A little more, and you would be late," Armand whispered, when his brother hurriedly ran to the doors of the living room, where they usually had dinner. "Father is already there, and the butler took the test results from me, I didn't have time to correct your mark," the boy lowered his head, he sincerely wanted to help smooth out their father's anger, because he knew that the man was more strict with Marcus than with him.

"Ah, forget it," Marcus waved his hand and looked at his brother, "How are you?" For the past few days, Armand had a cold, but none of the adults really cared, that's why Marcus looked after his brother himself.

"It's all right I think, I'll be good in two days," Armand answered in a slightly hoarse voice.

The living room door opened and one of the maids greeted the young gentlemen, "Come in, your father is expecting you." The boys looked at each other and went inside. Sigmund Taubert was sitting in a high-backed chair at the head of a large table and examining papers.

"Armand, I don't get it, your results are below normal, only 95 points? It looks like your brother is having a bad influence on you, I should review your free time," the man commented dryly on his son's test results, although they were the best in the class.

"Father, Marcus has nothing to do with-," the boy began to explain, but his brother interrupted him.

"Father, Armand had a cold and had a fever, he could not prepare properly. But even so, his result is-"

"Marcus!" The man shouted off his son's speech, and both boys flinched, "Did I give you the right to speak?"

"No, sir, you didn't," Marcus replied, barely audibly, and hid his hands behind his back so that his father would not notice his trembling fingers.

"That's right! How dare you even open your mouth?! With your 80 points, you shouldn't even raise your head in shame!" The man threw papers with the test results in the child's face. And why was one of his sons so mediocre? Members of their family have always been distinguished by high intelligence and academic performance, and this one, although he was his blood, was all about his abilities like his deceased mother.

"Father, but 80 points is-" Armand wanted to protect his brother and say that Marcus had the second result in the class after him and that the rest did not score more than 60, but Mr. Taubert's eyes were already burning with furious fire.

"Silence!" The menacing cry of a man thundered all over the room, "I talked with your class teacher and how is it that you didn't report to me about your skipping physics lesson, eh?"

The boys lowered their heads and closed their eyes, they did not assume that their father would know about it. Unofficially, that day the physics lesson was canceled, but officially all the children had to work in the laboratory on the experiments. When the teacher left, all the children began to fool around, and the twins did not consider it a problem to slip out of the classroom on their own business.

"Instead of practicing, you dragged into the drawing room!" The man pointed a finger at Marcus and growled, "It's all you! You and your stupid pictures! You have a bad influence on your brother and ruin his future with your useless interests!"

The boy clenched his jaw from resentment, but could not utter a word in his defense. In this family, only his mother supported his love for drawing, but now that she was gone, he fully felt the unlimited influence of his father.

The man was ready for anything, even to break the identity of his own child, if only to achieve the desired goals and "educate" him as the ideal and unshakable Taubert.

"Hans!" Sigmund shouted to one of the servants, that one appeared in the living room at the same moment, "Now go to Marcus's room, collect all the brushes, paints, pencils, all the drawings and everything connected with it ... and burn it all."

"No!" The boy raised his head and looked at his father in horror and pain, "No, you cannot! Mom gave it to me!" He rushed to the man with a prayer in his eyes and began to beg him not to do this, "Please, dad, I will do everything! I will learn, just don't throw it away!"

The man pushed the child away from him with a sharp movement of his hand, which made the boy fall to the floor. "Lock Armand in his room until morning, don't give him any water or food," Mr. Taubert gave the order and looked in disgust at his second son, who was lying on the floor and sobbing with resentment, "Whip Marcus on the back and his hands five times, lock him in the basement until evening." After he said that he turned and left, without even looking at his sons.

. . .

The basement door creaked, and a small shadow seeped in, "Marcus, where are you?" A small childish voice asked through the darkness.

"I'm here," the boy answered, he was sitting on an old bed in the corner of the room, his knees pressed to his chest. It was cold and damp in the basement, and his father didn't even allow him to have a blanket, even though it was already frosty in the evenings.

Polina lifted the candle up so that she could see the steps, and went downstairs, "I brought you some food and hot tea," the girl laid out some warm bundles on the bed, "And also, here's something for you," she took out a small notebook from her bosom, "I managed to steal it from Hans, before he burned everything else."

Marcus picked up the notebook, tears appeared in the boy's eyes. It was a notebook with sketches of his mother, she loved to draw and often showed her son various techniques of painting.

"Ugh-thank you," he answered quietly, "But you better leave if someone notices you, they will punish you."

"Don't worry, I have ten more minutes, now everyone is busy," the girl explained, "Sorry, I opened the book, there are such beautiful pictures. Did you draw this?"

"No, my mom did," the boy answered and opened a notebook. Polina climbed onto the bed and sat next to him, examining the uncomplicated but beautiful images under the flickering candlelight.

"You intentionally failed the test, right? I know how you had been preparing for it all week. You did it on purpose, because you thought Armand might not be able to cope, right?" Polina asked while the boy was turning over page after page.

Marcus's hand froze along with the next page in the air, after which he turned it over as before, "I don't understand what you mean. Just math is not my forte," he replied.

"We are friends, aren't we? Why are you hiding this from me and from Armand? You think I didn't understand that you specifically underestimate your grades so that your father scolds you, not your brother?"

Marcus grinned, he did not expect Polina to so easily figure out his plan, which he had used successfully for many years. He began to deliberately put himself in a bad light in order to take on most of his father's anger after one incident when Armand fell under Mr. Taubert's hot hand and lay in bed for more than two weeks.

Then their mother was alive, but that day she was not at home, Armand accidentally broke his father's favorite figurine when he climbed onto his desk for something, and his father caught him at that moment. Marcus could not take the blame on himself, and Armand felt the whole anger of Sigmund, which almost sent the child to the better world.

Just then, at the bed of his brother, he vowed that he would protect him as much as he could. And he did this for several years to the best of his age.

Marcus turned his head and looked at the girl, her attention was focused on the book in his hands. The shadow from her long eyelashes fell on her cheeks, and her blue eyes gave off golden sparks. She was very beautiful.

Marcus noticed this when he had only first seen her.

Despite the fact that Polina was the daughter of a servant, she was much more beautiful than all the girls who studied at his school, although the latter ones were from wealthy families and wore beautiful outfits.

The girl, feeling his gaze, turned. The boy closed his eyes and leaned in her direction.

"W-what are you doing?!" Polina jumped back and covered her mouth with her hand. It was a complete surprise for her when the boy slightly touched her lips with his lips, "This can only be done with the one you love and whom you want to get married to!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," Marcus shyly turned to one side, he himself did not understand why he had done this. At school, many girls wanted to kiss him on the cheek or as adults do, but he had never wanted to kiss someone himself. This feeling was new and unusual for him.

But, despite his young ten years, he understood what it was.

"Um, do you have someone you would like to marry?" he asked Polina after they sat in silence for a couple of minutes.

"Yes," the girl answered quietly.

The boy felt something prickle in his heart, but asked the next question, "Do I know him?"

"N-no," Polina answered in an uncertain tone and turned away.

'Yeah, right,' Marcus thought to himself. He knew that she hadn't gone anywhere and lived on inside the territory of the manor, and only Armand was the only child besides him. It turns out that even if he became friends with Polina first, even she, in the end, preferred his brother.

"You better leave before you get caught," the boy said, "Thanks again for the food. What I did ... um ... it was a sign of gratitude, so don't worry. We're friends, right?"

"Yeah," the girl nodded her head, smiled, and just as quietly slipped out, leaving Marcus alone again in the total darkness of the cold basement.

. . .