As soon as his son walked through the door an overwhelming sense of pride hit him before the boy had even begun. First off, he made it on time. Second, he existed. “Rurik you-” When he saw the box his expression took on a look of awe. Then once he opened it that awe became excitement. “Да! Это замечательно!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands out and grinning with pride. “Look at you! My Rushka you’ve done so well!” Awkward or not, he wrapped his arms around him and patted his back. “I am so proud of you. I’m proud of you without the medal but.” He pulled away to look him older, resting his hands firmly on his shoulders, “My God, you’ll show everyone.” He wasn’t referring to the medal. He was referring to the greatness in the boy himself. He was not a failure. He would not be a failure. Even if he was in the eyes of superiors, he would always be his son. Not a day would pass in which Pasha was not proud of his son.
He couldn't help but allow that small smile of pride at his father's reaction. Allowing himself to lean into the brief hug and not shrink under the weight of his father's hands on his shoulders. The whiskey brown eyes, which in his family were so horribly out of place, lift to meet the dark, stormy blues of his father. "The board says differently, but I hope I will." he murmurs. Rurik knew he was lazy, he knew he was unmotivated. Though it wasn't cause he didn't care, it's cause he wasn't being challenged and he was bored.