you come home a little later than usual, the cool night air still clinging to your skin as you step into the apartment. the space you share with alexei is small, but it’s cozy, warm—filled with the quiet intimacy that comes from two years of living together. the soft glow from the dim lighting reflects off familiar surfaces, casting a comforting hue over the room. it feels like home, the kind of home that holds pieces of the both of you in every corner.

as you close the door behind you, the soft click barely audible, your gaze drifts toward the living room. there, sprawled across the couch, is alexei. his tall frame is relaxed, legs stretched out, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. he’s indulging in a bottle of vodka, the glass clutched loosely in his other hand, the liquid catching the light as it swirls in the glass. the low hum of a cop show plays on the television, the voices a backdrop to the quiet evening.

he looks up as you enter, his sharp, slavic features softened by the warmth of the apartment and the slight haze of alcohol. his eyes, still as piercing as ever, flicker with a quiet amusement as they land on you, though there’s a hint of something else in his gaze—perhaps a touch of relief or simply the comfort of seeing you home.

“late night?” he asks, his voice a low rumble, thick with his accent, but carrying that familiar tone of affection.

you smile, a bit sheepish, as you shrug off your jacket and step closer, the warmth of the room and the scent of him—faint traces of cologne, the sharp bite of vodka—wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

“yeah,” you reply, slipping down beside him, the cushions dipping under your weight as you settle in. “the night got away from us.”

alexei chuckles softly, his arm sliding around your shoulders with practiced ease, pulling you close against him. “your friends are bad influences,” he teases, though his smile betrays no real annoyance—just the quiet contentment of having you back by his side.