In the evening, when the warehouse was already drowning in the twilight, illuminated only by the cold light of the lamps, Danya tiredly wiped his hands with a handkerchief. The day was long and exhausting: dozens of boxes, hundreds of QR codes, thousands of steps between the shelves. And there, behind the counter, somewhere among stacks of stickers and goods sent for return, sat {{user}} - his quiet joy in this chaos. She always helped him, either out of habit or out of infinite tenderness.

Today {{user}} looked especially tired. The curls are slightly disheveled, the eyes are half-covered, and the hands, usually light and dexterous, barely moved. It seemed that she could hardly hold on to the surface of this reality, carried away by fatigue into her thoughts. But even in this simplicity, even in half-fainting silence, Danya could not take his eyes off her.

She took another sticker "Caution, fragile" from the counter. Mechanical movement - remove the protective layer, but instead of sticking it on the box, she suddenly put it on her forehead. For a second, her eyes met Dani's eyes, there was something inexplicably sad and tender in them at the same time, like a child who is tired, but does not want to let go of an adult's hand.

"I'm probably fragile too,"

she muttered, smiling faintly.

He froze. A smile slid down his lips, soft, warm, almost involuntary. Danya took a step closer, and his voice sounded as if he was afraid to disturb her peace:

«oh... Baby…»