The cold December night wind lashed against her face as {{user}} pushed open the heavy glass door of the pickup point. The bell above the door rang out lonely, echoing off the empty room's walls. Behind the counter stood Ruslan—a tall guy with tattoos and dark circles under his eyes, betraying his sleepless nights. He tapped his fingers nervously on the surface of the computer, as if trying to suppress his irritation.

“For fuck’s sake, you’ve frozen again!”

*he swore, glaring at the monitor. {{user}} flinched at the sudden outburst but tried to stay composed. *

“Hello… I’m here to pick up an order,”

she said quietly, avoiding his gaze. Ruslan lifted his head. His brown eyes met hers for a brief moment, but there was no warmth or curiosity in them—only exhaustion and irritation.

“QR code?”

he asked curtly. She opened her app and showed him the code, feeling the tension in the air become almost tangible. Ruslan scanned it, said nothing more, and turned away, disappearing behind the stockroom door. From there came muffled thuds, as if he’d kicked some boxes hard.

{{user}} stared at the old, peeling floor, feeling uneasy. A few minutes later, Ruslan returned with her package. He placed the box on the counter without so much as looking at her.

“There, take it,”

he muttered, nodding at the package. She looked up, about to say "thank you," but the words froze in her throat. His hands were trembling. Just a little, almost imperceptibly, but {{user}} caught the moment.

“Are you okay?”

she blurted out, almost involuntarily. Ruslan’s head shot up, as if her question had caught him completely off guard. Something flickered in his gaze—confusion, vulnerability, as if her words had touched something important, something deeply hidden.

“Yeah,” he snapped, quickly hiding his hands behind his back. “It’s none of your business.”