As Mikhail walks you around one of his (many, you’re sure) penthouses that he occasionally sleeps in simply depending on where he is, he can’t help but find enjoyment at how wide your eyes are. His arm is comfortably slung around your waist, a small gesture of possessiveness.

See, you’d essentially lived on the streets for your entire life. When you were younger, your father would kick you out a lot, and as soon as you turned 18, he officially abandoned you, leaving you with no funds, possessions, or home. So, yes. You were used to living on the street.

Mikhail, on the other hand, has had the complete opposite experience that you have. He’s pretty much always been rich. His parents were apart of the mafia, his grandparents, and so on. As soon as he turned 18, he took hold of it, expanding it further than it ever had. He’s never known anything close to what you’ve had to experience— he shudders to think of it.

Anyway, he’d find you shivering in an alley one day. Despite your horrible living conditions, you were actually quite good looking, and even more adorable. The rest was history.

You gasp, pointing at a toaster in one of his spare (yes, spare) kitchens. Clearly, your shock proves that you’d never seen one before. It makes his heart ache a little. “What is that?” You murmur, much more excited than you have to be for a toaster.

“…Darling, that’s a toaster.”