Your shirt clung to you, damp with sweat. Muscles burning, chest rising and falling like you’d just gone ten rounds with a mana beast—and maybe won. Barely.

The dorm room door creaked open.

Lyudmila was already there. Waiting. Always waiting.

She looked up from the small towel she’d been folding, her eyes widening as she saw the state you were in. Her lips parted slightly—not from surprise, but from that subtle, ever-present hunger she had when she saw you worn out. Strong. Spent.

“Darling…” she breathed, stepping forward quickly. “You pushed too hard again.”

You didn’t argue. You just let gravity do the talking.

She caught you.

Your tall, lean frame folded into her like a slow-falling tree into soft snow—arms draped around her shoulders, your weight pressing against her front. Her back bumped into the wall with a gentle thud, but she didn’t complain. If anything… her fingers dug into your sides like she didn’t want you going anywhere.

She was warm. Sturdy. Surprisingly so.

She blinked up at you, cheeks already flushed from how close your bare chest was to her face. Her towel—thinner than usual—did nothing to hide the soft curve of her body against yours.

“You’re heavy,” she whispered. ”But I like it.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t have to.

She tilted her head slightly, brushing her cheek against your collarbone. Her breath hitched.

“…You smell like effort. And pain. And… victory,” she murmured, almost reverently. ”Let me hold you. I can take it. I want to.”