The Nest

[Ezvin Marveet]

Saturday arrived gray and breathless, the kind of cold that didn’t bite so much as sink its teeth in slow. Snow gathered in the seams of the city: stacked along rooftops, clinging to window ledges, dusting the shoulders of old statues that stood watch over the frozen streets. The Moscow skyline looked like it had been dipped in powdered sugar and forgotten.

Ezvin arrived early.

Wrapped in a navy wool coat that flared a little too dramatically when he walked, a knit scarf the color of sea foam, and a pair of well-worn boots with snow-crusted toes, he stood outside the tucked-away address he'd texted Cadence the night before. He kept shifting from heel to toe to keep warm, breath ghosting out in soft white clouds, a paper bag clutched in one hand, and a thermos of something steaming in the other.

Just a small courtyard tucked between buildings, connected by a discreet iron arch with snow and a mosaic tile by the entrance that read Гнездо in chipped cobalt: The Nest.

He held a paper bag in one hand — still warm — and a thermos in the other. Inside the bag: pirozhki, filled with cabbage and mushroom, picked up from a bakery with an old Muscovite menu and the world’s grumpiest cashier. He’d timed it perfectly. The filling would still be hot.

The Nest wasn’t on any curated “Hidden Art Spots of Moscow” list. It wasn’t curated, period. It was an artist’s co-op, gallery, studio, café, and half-functional chaos engine all rolled into one. A living thing.

Inside, it sprawled. A labyrinth of rooms and stairwells, each one painted in a different color scheme by whoever had last claimed it. No two walls matched. One room was filled with floor-to-ceiling zines and old typewriters where visitors wrote confessions or left behind single lines of poetry. Another had a community canvas where strangers added swipes of paint, quotes, or tiny portraits in the margins. There were sculptors working in clay near the back. Musicians sometimes played in the stairwells just for the acoustics. A woman named Alisa ran a coffee counter out of what might have once been a supply closet. There was a sculpture garden in the back. 'Garden' being generous, considering everything was frozen and lightly dusted with snow, but Ezvin liked it anyway. The pieces weren’t for sale or marketable. They were unfinished, sometimes literally: half-chiseled torsos, twisted wire, a few broken limbs from a former installation now resting like sacred ruins in the white drift.

The Nest smelled like old books, varnish, espresso, and fresh snow melting off boots.

Ezvin could’ve taken her anywhere. Jazz bars. Wine tastings. Rooftop restaurants with carefully curated lighting. But that wasn’t what this was. Not with Cadence. She didn’t need the polish. She needed somewhere that was allowed to be unfinished. A work in progress. A future untold.

So when she arrived, he didn’t say much. Just handed her the thermos and the paper bag with a simple “Good morning. I've never been so excited for aimless wandering.” He smiled then he gestured her inside.

[Cadence]

Cadence spent the morning pacing and playing piano. Her anxiety levels weren’t insanely high, but she was feeling anxious. She could easily solve it. All she had to do was get out her wallet and search for the address he’d given her. That would tell her where they were going, but she didn’t. She felt that the not knowing would make her experience more authentic and real. It was a first time for Cadence. It was the first time that she felt going through the anxiety was worth it.

The time came for her to leave, she got in the cab and gave the driver her address. He drove and asked if music was okay. She nodded and smirked a bit as her own song came on. She saw the driver’s face in the rearview mirror. He was unaware that it was her he was driving. It had just been random, but still fun nonetheless.

Cadence looked out the window as he drove. She hardly left her place, and usually her transit time was focused on her wallet, but she was growing, and now she found she wanted to look and see the world around her. She contemplated that until she arrived. She made sure the driver was paid and got out. She looked and saw an archway between two buildings and a courtyard where Ezvin waited for her. Cadence had difficult with the Russian alphabet, so she got out her wallet and scanned the text. The Nest

She approached Ezvin, noting his long coat. Her coat was also long, and it was clean, well made and unadorned. A purple wool knitted scarf lay around her neck and she took the offered gifts from Ezvin with black leather gloved hands. She gave them a glance but Ezvin had already gestured her in. ”Good morning,” her voice lace with both anxiety and anticipation. ”What is it that you’re plotting, Marveet?”

She entered the building and was astonished. The walls were covered in zines and vintage typewriters. People were looking and one was even writing something. She noticed that man, about her age was attractive, and once again she was astonished that she had noticed it. Why was it important?

The answer came to her: She wasn’t just surviving anymore.

It was the link that made everything in the last week make sense. It was why she hadn’t picked Ezvin’s easier options. It was why this album was so important to her.  It was even why she had looked out the window on the way here. She didn’t want to hide in the dark anymore. She wanted to live, and it was this moment that Cadence was truly reborn.

She took a step tentatively forward - not in fear, but because she wasn’t sure where to go. There were many places she could explore, but she was uncertain which to take. She instead spun in a circle, taking in the room. She summoned her power as she did. Not because she had any intention to do anything with it, but because it made her senses sharper and the world clearer. She was aware her motion drew attention, but it wasn’t disruptive and the eyes of the others in the room weren’t eyes of disapproval. They were the eyes of artists. Artist’s who understood when someone was going through an epiphany.

She maneuvered the thermos to her other hand and used her teeth to pull off a glove. She wrapped the hand around the thermos, feeling the warmth of the liquid inside. She closed her eyes then and listened. Her head tilted as he heard the sounds of shoes across the floor and beyond that, singing in the stairwells. She sniffed and could smell old books, varnish m, and other smells, in particular the beverage and pastry Ezvin had given her. Finally, she opened her eye, and opened the bag, pulling out the food. She had no idea what it was, but she took a bite and savored the flavor as if tasting something for the first time.

She headed back to Ezvin, her gaze never staying in one place for long. She wasn’t even one hundred percent what she was looking at, but she knew this was important.  ”What is this place? It’s…it’s…” her voice hitched as she reverently searched for the words. ”It’s…unfinished. No - not that. It’s living and breathing. It’s…raw…unfiltered. It’s…truth. the last word was quiet, almost a whisper as if it was a secret.

[Ezvin Marveet]

Ezvin smiled. Not the broad, showy kind he sometimes flashed when he was being charming, but the smaller, truer kind. The one that started slow and stayed warm. The way she moved, the way she spun lightly through the room, the way her whole body seemed to be absorbing the place, it was everything he’d hoped for when he picked The Nest.

He slipped his gloves into his coat pocket and stepped away from the wall he’d been casually leaning against, giving her space but staying near enough that he could guide her through it when she was ready.

Cadence’s voice, when it came, carried a reverence he hadn’t expected, but instantly recognized. He’d heard that tone before, not in tourists or collectors, but in artists standing in front of something that didn’t explain itself. Something that didn’t need to.

When she whispered "truth," he let the silence hang there for a breath longer than normal, letting her own realization fill the space without stepping on it.

Finally, he tilted his head toward her, voice low and unhurried.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Exactly that.”

Ezvin gestured lightly for her to follow, not a command, just an invitation, and moved deeper into the tangled heart of the building. His boots scuffed against the battered floorboards as he led her through one of the side hallways, past a crooked doorway draped with a beaded curtain.

He recognized a few faces as they passed: artists bundled in oversized sweaters, clay still under their nails, sketchbooks tucked under arms. He exchanged nods here and there: an old man hunched over a battered typewriter gave him a wink; a young woman with blue-dyed hair and paint-streaked jeans flashed him a knowing smile. It wasn’t celebrity recognition. It was community. They knew each other the way storms know rain—part of the same atmosphere.

As he walked, he kept half an eye on Cadence, noticing the way she drank it all in: the smells, the textures, the shifting currents of creativity thick in the air.

“The Nest’s been here... longer than anyone really knows,” he said, his voice soft enough that it wove between the sounds of the building rather than cutting through them. “No grants. No formal funding. It survives because people want it to. It’s messy on purpose. It’s a place where you’re allowed to not be finished yet.”

They passed a workshop where a few artists hunched over clay wheels, their hands slick and methodical. The smell of wet earth hung heavy in the air. Another room echoed with the slow, deliberate scrape of brushes against canvas.

Ezvin stopped at an intersection where three hallways splintered off in different directions. He turned back toward her, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes.

“Alright, Mathis. You’re at the crossroads.” He gestured dramatically to each path in turn. “Down there, you can add your chaos to the community canvas. That way, there’s a pottery room if you’re feeling brave and don’t mind getting your hands dirty.” He flicked his thumb toward the third hallway. “And down there’s the zine table. Old typewriters, old paper, new thoughts.”

He took a step back, giving her the choice, the space. His grin softened into something more sincere.

“No wrong answers here. No rules. No one watching to see if you screw it up. Just... whatever’s in you, finding a way out.”

He tucked his hands in his coat pockets, rocking slightly on his heels, feeling the pulse of the place settling around them like a second heartbeat.

“And if you just wanna walk around and breathe it in?” He gave her a light shrug, his tone easy and free. “That’s art, too.”

Ezvin fell quiet, letting her choose, the hint of a smile still ghosting his face. the kind that said he was perfectly happy to follow wherever her instincts led.

[Cadence]

Cadence followed at his gesture, her eyes not staying in one place for long.  She wanted to take this place in - all of it.  It was special. Several people recognized her companion and a few recognized her as well; she did have a well known face after all, but the sign of celebrity wasn't there.  This wasn't a place where that mattered. This was a place wasn't about celebrity, fame, or money.  She sensed it; it was about community. As she followed she absorbed Ezvin's words. It survived because people wanted it to. That spoke of community as well.  And Ezvin had invited her into that.

"Are we ever really finished?" Cadence asked at his statement, spoken more as an out loud thought than as an actual statement.  There was truth to it though.

Ezvin seemed content to take the role of guide in this journey, and she was content to follow, not out of fear or anxiety, but out of trust. He had brought her here for a reason, and she felt she had understood some of that reason. He wasn't sure if the epiphany she had was what he had expected.  She hadn't spoken of what she had felt when entering this place yet.  For now, she was absorbing and coming to an understanding of what she had concluded about herself - about what she now really wanted.  Words didn't exist for that yet.

Ezvin's guidance though, had never been one where he told you the answer.  He allowed things to unfold and allowed those he guided to make choices. It was something Cadence appreciated about him; it was something she respected.  So she wasn't surprised when they arrived at a crossroads in both a literal and metaphoric sense. He stepped back, telling her four options. As he stepped back, she stepped forward, a step of faith as it were. Down one corridor, a community canvas where she could "add her chaos" the thought made her smile as she contemplated, then turning her head to the second path - a pottery room.  She was still holding the power and could detect the scent of earth down that hallway. Then she faced the third hallway.  An old place for new words - a poetic way to put a place for poetry.

Cadence then closed her eyes, focusing inward. There wasn't a wrong choice. No one would judge her for her choice.  She knew her skills and no one would even judge her poor art skills if she had gone to the canvas or the pottery room.  She might even find that those there might offer up their knowledge.  This was the vibe she got from this place.  Artists respecting artists. Truth be told, she wanted to go to all of them and experience as much as she could. 

Cadence opened her eyes, a decision made, but remained quiet for a moment before she spoke. "I think - I'd like to experience all three - if time permits. Not to just observe. Today is a day for experience - even if my skills at visual art are pretty bad and I have no experience at working clay," She gave a light smile and a soft chuckle. "But first, I have words to say - dying to get out,  and maybe by the time we get there, they will have revealed themselves to me."

Cadence gestured to the third doorway and waited for Ezvin to join her before she began to move. The power pulsed in her like a heartbeat and it wanted her to give it form, even if she was unsure of what that form was. But the way the power heightened her senses made her keep hold of it, trusting her instincts to keep it ready.  For what, she didn't know.

Cadence smiled and asked a single question before they arrived at their destination.  She understood that there wasn't a wrong choice, but curiosity begged her to ask. "Which one did you go down your first time here?" There were lots of questions she could have asked such as how he found this place or who brought him here, but her curiosity was at the crossroads and she wondered what path he had chosen.