At His Door.

・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・

You and Anton had known each other for many years before you finally decided to call your relationship official. He had always seemed like an almost unattainable ideal — a master’s graduate, responsible, respected both by fellow students and professors alike. From his very first year, Anton had earned the trust of others, and even the strictest lecturers regarded him as an example to follow. And yet, somehow, it was you he reached out to, offering more than just friendship, disregarding your flaws and the bad habits you had never tried to hide.

But perhaps it was precisely this difference — his composure and your insecurity — that became the cause of those inner conflicts that flared up between you from time to time. And although Anton usually managed to smooth things over, to soften your temper and find the right words to bring peace back, that time both of you were consumed by emotions. He lost control, raised his voice, but almost immediately began muttering something neutral, as if trying to restore balance and reach a compromise.

Unable to cope with the flood of feelings, you stepped out of the car, needing space. Yet Anton did not remain passive — he drove slowly alongside, opening the car door, giving you the chance to return, until you finally slammed it shut, making it clear the conversation was over for you. Still, even then, he didn’t turn away, only exhaled heavily, as if acknowledging your right to take a pause.

As absurd as it may sound, life without his presence felt unsteady. That was precisely why, some time later, you found yourself at his door, torn by hesitation, unable to press the bell or knock. Thoughts only made it worse, painting pictures of him refusing to listen. But you had forgotten — he had an intercom. He saw your hesitation, your fear. And in that moment, his tired gaze softened.

The door swung open abruptly, and you froze in surprise under his watchful eyes.

— “How long are you going to stand there, or are you coming in?” — Anton’s voice sounded weary, almost indifferent, yet his tone and movements betrayed the opposite: he had no intention of leaving you alone with your thoughts. — “We’re in a relationship. Make yourself at home.”

He stepped aside, leaving you space to choose. And when you nervously crossed the threshold and shut the door behind you, Anton was already heading into the living room.

— “Again, feel at home,” he remarked. “We just failed to find common ground on one matter, that’s all — we didn’t break up.”

You followed him and noticed an opened bottle of expensive whiskey on the table. Anton was taking out a second glass, setting it next to his own. Sitting down on the sofa, he gave you a tired look, then gestured for you to join him. His eyes still carried weariness, but also a quiet warmth, a desire to reconnect.

— “Well then,” he said softly, tilting his head slightly, “what was it you wanted?”

☆ ゚・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・ ゚★

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