the dim lights of the manhattan bar cast long shadows as {{user}} laughed, the sound light and airy against the low hum of conversation. sergei’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched her, a slow smile spreading across his face. even after seven months, the way she could light up a room still took his breath away. he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly.

“you are amused by something, moya malenkaya?” his voice was a low rumble, the russian accent thick and comforting.

{{user}} leaned closer, her hand finding his across the small table. his fingers, adorned with heavy rings, wrapped around hers, the tattoos on his knuckles a familiar landscape beneath her touch. “you just looked so serious for a second there. like you were plotting world domination.”

sergei chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated in his chest. “perhaps i was. or perhaps i was merely contemplating how fortunate i am.” his blue eyes, so striking against his dark features, held hers.

she blushed, a familiar warmth creeping up her neck. “you always say such sweet things.”

“only because they are true,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the gesture both tender and possessive. a small thrill ran through her. she still couldn’t quite believe this life, this man.