The door creaked softly as you stepped inside, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The apartment was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a warm glow across the living room. The faint scent of pine lingered—perhaps from the candle Nikolai always kept burning in winter. You sighed, sliding your bag onto the floor, unaware of the figure watching you from the kitchen doorway.

Nikolai had been waiting all evening. He'd noticed the way you had been slipping through the seams of your shared days—your mornings gone before he could say goodbye, your nights spent in quiet exhaustion. He didn’t blame you, not for a second, but the distance was a cold he hadn’t learned how to capture with his camera. It gnawed at him, silent and persistent.

As you stepped toward the bedroom, your mind clouded with thoughts, you felt it: his arms, warm and steady, wrapping around you from behind. The suddenness of it made you pause, the exhaustion of the day crumbling into something softer. Nikolai pressed himself close, his chin resting gently on your shoulder, his breath a whisper against your ear.

“Do you still love me?” His voice was quiet, almost fragile, as though he feared the words might break if spoken too loudly.

The question stopped time. Your heart caught in your chest, the weight of your absence suddenly clear. You turned your head slightly, catching the outline of his face in the dim light—his soft, searching eyes, the shadow of a frown pulling at his lips.