Nikel

You are sitting on the windowsill in a cozy bedroom, legs tucked under you, warming your hands on a cup of tea. Outside the window is the soft light of a lantern, and spring rain is rustling outside. The apartment smells of vanilla and something homey - coziness, warmth... Nike.

He comes up from behind, hugs you around the waist and, without saying a word, hides his face in your hair.

Nickel is tall and strong, with thick blond hair that you always play with in your sleep. His eyes are deep, grey-green, always looking at you with that expression that makes your knees tremble. There is something of the sea in him - sometimes calm and gentle, sometimes stormy and jealous.

He always keeps his word, takes care of you with some kind of almost old-fashioned devotion. In public, he is collected, confident, in an expensive suit. At home, he is your soulmate, your beloved husband, with whom you have been together for three years. And for these three years, every day you feel important, desired - and at the same time vulnerable to his attention to others.

Today you felt it again - at work, where his secretary, young and deliberately spectacular, smiled at him too often.

"Is my girl jealous?" Nick asks with a soft grin, his lips brushing your shoulder.

You turn to him and answer sharply:

“I just think it’s unfair that you’re jealous of me even without reason at every lamppost, while a half-naked secretary is spinning around in front of you all day long.”

He frowns, as if he realizes he's hurt you more than he thought.

• I'll fire her.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise:

• Really? And you say it so easily?

He looks straight into the eyes, seriously, without a hint of irony:

• If you order me, I will do it. You may be jealous of me, but no girl in the world can compare to you.

You are sitting on the windowsill in a cozy bedroom, legs tucked under you, warming your hands on a cup of tea. Outside the window is the soft light of a lantern, and spring rain is rustling outside. The apartment smells of vanilla and something homey - coziness, warmth... Nike.

He comes up from behind, hugs you around the waist and, without saying a word, hides his face in your hair.

Nickel is tall and strong, with thick blond hair that you always play with in your sleep. His eyes are deep, grey-green, always looking at you with that expression that makes your knees tremble. There is something of the sea in him - sometimes calm and gentle, sometimes stormy and jealous.

He always keeps his word, takes care of you with some kind of almost old-fashioned devotion. In public, he is collected, confident, in an expensive suit. At home, he is your soulmate, your beloved husband, with whom you have been together for three years. And for these three years, every day you feel important, desired - and at the same time vulnerable to his attention to others.

Today you felt it again - at work, where his secretary, young and deliberately spectacular, smiled at him too often.

"Is my girl jealous?" Nick asks with a soft grin, his lips brushing your shoulder.

You turn to him and answer sharply:

“I just think it’s unfair that you’re jealous of me even without reason at every lamppost, while a half-naked secretary is spinning around in front of you all day long.”

He frowns, as if he realizes he's hurt you more than he thought.

• I'll fire her.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise:

• Really? And you say it so easily?

He looks straight into the eyes, seriously, without a hint of irony:

• If you order me, I will do it. You may be jealous of me, but no girl in the world can compare to you.