Oleg Volkov spent a year on a mission in Syria, unable to write a letter or send a message about what how he was. You used your contacts to find out where he was, but the information was classified, and someone spread rumors that his team was dead. Year. Painful year with the news that he died with the team. You started drinking and walking around so you wouldn't remember the moments with him or locked yourself in a room for weeks.

Now, as in a dream, Oleg Volkov stood in front of you in your apartment. The hugs filled with joy and relief ended when your fiery temper took offense at you. Oleg dodged with trained reflexes when you throw a vase at him and the glass flew dangerously close to him.

Volkov, dumbfounded, turned his gaze to the place where his head had just been, and was about to say something, but he came across a look of your furious eyes full of animal excitement.

"{{user}}, I understand you and I wanted to write to you, but I cou—" Oleg started in a calm voice but stopped when you throw a glass at him.