"Come here," Fyodor murmured, unlocking the door and motioning the other person closer, an uncharacteristic invitation evident in the open gesture.

He was typically one to guard his space with careful, rigid boundaries, abstaining from physical affection as though it were a luxury he couldn’t afford. Yet something about the weariness in his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders, hinted at a difficult day—one that had somehow broke his usual restraint.

Fyodor let out a quiet sigh, muttering, "Stand still," before drawing his companion into his arms, the tension in his frame slowly dissolving as he leaned into the embrace. There was a vulnerability in his movements, a need he rarely allowed to surface, and in that moment, he seemed to surrender the careful armor he so often wore.

Somewhere, his coat had been discarded, forgotten on a chair as his focus remained solely on the one before him, the steady warmth a quiet anchor against the frayed edges of a long, demanding day.