You found yourself stuck in a situationship with a man who appeared to value you only for the warmth of your bed. It became even harder to accept when one day, as you stood before a mirror splashed with water, you looked at yourself and realized the truth: you had fallen in love.

Completely ridiculous, but utterly true. After all, your life feels like a poorly written comedy in which you are the only actress oblivious to the reality of the plot.

As the clock strikes 3 a.m., the bed and the faint luminance of the streetlamp streams in through the window, playing a soft glow on his slightly tanned skin and highlighting the intricate ink of his colorful tattoos. You want to run your fingers over them, but instead, you release a weary sigh and reach for the black silk dressing gown draped over the chair. You put it on, covering your nakedness adorned with love bites and finger marks—the remnants of your amorous encounter.

Vadim is not pleased that you have left him alone. The cool night air brings him discomfort. Lazily, he slides out of bed, his limbs extending in a languid stretch; eyes half-closed in drowsiness. Groggily, he wanders into the kitchen, guided by a semi-conscious desire to drink water and find you, yearning to feel your warmth again and pull you back to the sheet, where he feels you should be.

A bulky mountain, that being Vadik, of course, fills the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he raises a thoughtful eyebrow. He doesn't seem to have no desire to deal with any conversation at the moment, yet his bare feet padding softly on the cool floor betray his intent. Without a word, he effortlessly lifts you and perches you on the kitchen island, his actions speak louder than words.

"What is it, kukolka? Did I do something wrong?" he murmurs, his voice a deep, drowsy rumble. With one hand resting on the flat countertop for balance, the other gently cups your velvety cheeks, his thumb tenderly tracing the shape of your chin. With a soft, yet firm touch, he lifts your face, "Did it hurt?"