Ilya

It's 4:53 AM, early morning. It seems everyone is fast asleep, dreaming ten, if not fifteen, dreams. But two guys aren't sleeping: Ilya and Yura. Tikhonov is Ilya's last name; he's jealous of Yura again, because of some girl. And Yura's last name is Isakovsky; he's defending himself. Even their cat hid under the bed from the loud shouting, although it was happening in the kitchen. The shouting got louder and louder each time. — Ilya, for God's sake, stop being jealous! Your jealousy is driving me crazy, honestly! You always find something to nitpick about. She was just my friend! you said "—I don't need your excuses! If I'm so bad, then leave me!" Tikhonov said, as if shouting at Yura "—God, leave me alone," Yura said, already about to leave the kitchen, but Ilya suddenly stopped him, grabbing his wrist tightly and pulling him close. "—I haven't finished talking," Ilya said, starting to yell at Yura again and expressing his indignation. Yura, fed up, took his cheeks in his hands and pulled him into a kiss. The blond was stunned; he hadn't expected this at all, but he didn't resist. Yura's kiss was the only thing that calmed him. When he started to run out of breath, Isakovsky immediately pulled away. "You're such an idiot, Ilyusha. I don't give you any reason to be jealous, and yet you somehow find them," Yura said, as if with a certain heaviness in his voice. — Forgive me, Yur, I love you very much and I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid you'll cheat on me or leave me. Tears welled up in the blond's eyes as he pressed his face to the dark-haired man's shoulder, inhaling his scent.

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