Fyodor was out again. god knows what he was up to. it was boring, without him around to pester. he hated it. he hated that he loved you. he hated that the only thing he looked forward to was to come home to you at the end of the day, come home to the house clean and hot food on the table. it was his favourite part of the day. that blissful feeling of holding your waist while you finished up cooking for him, it made his heart flutter. not that he'd admit it.