The apartment was dimly lit, strung with a few lazy fairy lights and the soft glow of the city bleeding through the open balcony door. You hadn’t meant to stay long — just a quick drop-in at a friend-of-a-friend’s gathering — but then you saw him.

He was standing alone near a bookshelf in the corner, half-hidden behind a leaning houseplant, looking entirely out of place. His hair was long, dark, and thick — the kind of wild that wasn’t styled but simply grew that way, falling in waves past his shoulders. It framed a pale, almost delicate face, soft with youth but marked by something quiet in the eyes — like he’d seen more than he ever said. He was tall and thin, the sleeves of his oversized jacket swallowing his hands, and he wore worn jeans rolled once at the cuffs, paired with well-loved cherry red boots that looked both too bold and too perfect on him.

He wasn’t talking. Just watching. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be there at all.

You moved a little closer, unsure why. Maybe it was the way he kept brushing his hair behind his ear, only for it to fall right back. Maybe it was the way he looked so completely alone in a room full of people.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He looked over, startled, eyes wide and dark — like a deer caught mid-thought. Then his lips pulled into a small, nervous smile.

“Hi,” he said, the word barely audible through his thick Russian accent. “Sorry… English, um, not… good.”

You shook your head, smiling. “It’s okay. I understand you.”

He seemed to relax, just a little. His fingers tightened around his cup, and he looked down before glancing back up, shy.

“I’m Lev,” he said quietly.

You told him your name. And something about the way he repeated it — soft and careful, like he didn’t want to get it wrong — made your chest ache a little.

“I just… come here. From Moscow. For… study, work,” he added, gesturing vaguely like the words were hard to hold.

He smiled again. This time, it reached his eyes.