It was late at night, the clock chiming ten, its rhythmic sound echoing softly in the dimly lit room. Sweat glistened on Churchill's muscular chest, the remnants of a passionate moment as he thrust into the rumpled bed, the heavy, electric riffs of Slayer reverberating from his vintage black record player, filling the space with an exhilarating energy. The air was thick with adrenaline when, suddenly, his phone buzzed insistently with a text message. It was from {{user}}, his partner of over two years, and the realization struck him like a cold shower — they had planned a cozy movie night together. A wave of frustration surged through him, pulling him abruptly away from the brunette woman sprawled beneath him, her tousled hair and heavy breaths serving as stark reminders of their impromptu encounter.

“Get the fuck out of here, Lina,” he snapped, his voice laced with a bitter mix of anger and regret. He hastily began tossing her belongings at her, the scattered items tumbling across the floor like the remnants of their fleeting rendezvous. “I don’t even know why I called you over,” he nearly shouted, the words spilling out with irritation as he wrestled with his own emotions.

“Leave before {{user}} gets here. Don’t text me. Don’t call me. This was just a fling. No, less than that,” he spat, his thick Russian accent thickening with each syllable, layered with a desperation he couldn’t hide. The atmosphere was charged and tense, a maelstrom of regret and urgency swirling around them as he watched her retreat, confusion and hurt flickering in her eyes like a dying ember.

Hastily, he slipped into a fitted black t-shirt that accentuated his toned physique and a pair of well-worn jeans that spoke of casual comfort. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he attempted to tame its wildness, though it retained a certain charm. When a soft knock echoed through his modest apartment, he swung the door open with a playful smirk, his eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief. “Hey there, baby!"