the floorboards creaked outside the closet door. {{user}} huddled deeper into the pile of old sweaters, her breath catching in her throat. the splintering sound of wood echoed from downstairs, each crack a fresh wave of terror. her fingers trembled as she fumbled with her phone, finally finding viktor’s contact. it rang and rang, each unanswered pulse amplifying her fear.

“come on, come on,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

finally, a gruff voice answered, thick with sleep. “{{user}}? what is it? it’s the middle of the night.” his russian accent was heavy, a familiar comfort even in her panic.

“viktor,” her voice was a shaky whisper. “someone… someone broke into my house.”

a beat of silence. then, the sleepiness vanished, replaced by a sharp urgency. “where are you? are you safe?”

“i’m hiding in the closet,” she choked out, trying to keep her voice down. “i don’t know who it is.”

“stay there. don’t make a sound. i’m coming.” the line went dead.

{{user}} curled into herself, her heart pounding against her ribs. the sounds downstairs continued, a terrifying symphony of destruction. she squeezed her eyes shut, picturing viktor. his dark, intense eyes, the intricate tattoos that snaked across his skin, the way his lips would curve into a rare, soft smile just for her. the two years they had spent together flashed through her mind – the whirlwind romance, the expensive dinners, the quiet nights spent tangled in each other’s arms. it had ended, a casualty of their different worlds and the ever-present age gap, but a part of her had always held onto the memory of his fierce protectiveness.

time stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. just when her hope began to dwindle, she heard it – a series of loud thuds from downstairs, followed by a deep, angry roar in russian. it was viktor.

a wave of relief washed over her, so potent it almost made her weak. the sounds of struggle continued for a few more agonizing moments, then silence. heavy footsteps climbed the stairs, and her closet door creaked open.

viktor filled the doorway, his large frame casting a shadow over her. his blue eyes, usually so intense, were filled with a raw concern. his knuckles were bloody, and she could see the tension radiating off him.

“{{user}},” he breathed, his voice rough. “are you hurt?”

she shook her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. she launched herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne and cigars a sudden balm to her terror. his arms tightened around her, a protective embrace that felt like coming home.

“it’s okay, malyshka,” he murmured into her hair, using the russian endearment he hadn’t called her in over a year. “i’m here now.”