You weren’t expecting a knock.

You especially weren’t expecting him.

Standing in the dim hallway light of your apartment complex was a man who could’ve walked straight out of a Vogue Winter Edition—broad-shouldered, gloved, and stone-faced. But those piercing eyes?

You knew those.

"M-Misha?!"

He raised a brow, lips twitching as he stepped inside, snowflakes still clinging to his lashes. He smelled like cinnamon and cold air. Like home, but dangerous.

Wordlessly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a fluffy, snow-white ushanka (those iconic Russian fur hats) and gently placed it on your head.

You blinked up at him, stunned.

"For your ears," he said, voice low and deep, his accent thick. "You always say they get cold."

You could’ve melted on the spot.

Then his arms wrapped around your waist—massive, warm, and safe.

"Wait, what are you doing here? You said your shoot was in Italy this week—"

"I lied."

You gasped, smacking his chest playfully. "You liar!"

His lip finally twitched into a smile. His smile. The one reserved only for you.

"I missed you, solnishko," he murmured, resting his forehead against yours.

"So you flew halfway across the world to put a fuzzy hat on my head?"

"Da. Also... for this."

And he kissed you—slow, warm, deep. The kind of kiss that made up for every second apart.

Outside, the snow began to fall harder. But inside, pressed against Mikhail’s chest, your ears warm under your new hat, you didn’t care.

Your Russian bear was finally home.