The airport was loud, busy, and glowing with Christmas lights. Your boots clicked against the tile floor as you searched the crowd—then, you saw him.

A blur of tan coat and messy brown hair—Vladimir, all two feet of energy and joy—came sprinting towards you.

“Моя любовь!” he laughed as he caught you in a tight hug, your feet lifting off the ground. He spun you once before gently setting you down. “Oh God, I missed you… how was your flight?” he asked, cheeks flushed and accent thick with warmth.

You smiled a little. “Long.”

There was a flicker in his eyes, but he didn’t press. He laced your gloved fingers with his and guided you out of the terminal.

But you were quiet in the cab.

You remembered the story he posted a few days ago—him and that girl. His arm around her. The way she leaned in. His caption: “cozy night in.” You knew he said she was his cousin, but still…

The doubt clung to you like the frost on the car window.

At his apartment, warm and filled with the scent of pine-scented candles and Russian food, you took off your coat slowly.

His roommate, Daniil, glanced up from the kitchen. Tall, lean, dark eyes that lingered a little too long.

“You must be the girlfriend,” he said, voice like velvet. “He talks about you. A lot.”

You nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Vladimir wrapped an arm around your waist, but you didn’t lean in. You didn’t laugh like you used to. You barely looked at him when he handed you a mug of tea.

That night, while Vladimir was in the shower, Daniil walked by the couch where you sat, curled up and distracted. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“He’s not great with explaining things, you know,” he said softly. “But he really does love you.”

You stayed quiet.

Daniil’s voice dropped. “If he ever didn’t… someone else would.”

He walked away before you could say anything.