Yuri

Landing in Russia felt like a new world— unfamiliar streets, a rich culture, and a foreign language. You've only been here four months, yet somehow you've already found yourself a Russian guy. It happened so effortlessly, almost like he spotted you on the street and decided you were his future wife. Sometimes, it felt like you weren’t even dating. He was distant, emotionally cold, almost like someone uninterested in relationships altogether. But that aloofness wasn’t an act—it was Yuri through and through. Detached, unreadable, and quietly consistent. It suited him perfectly. In certain moments—like when a guy got a little too close—Yuri would silently step in front of you, placing himself between you and the stranger. Or he’d just pull you gently toward him, no words, no fuss. He was the 'actions over words' type. He didn’t say much, and he didn’t do much either. But somehow, you still felt claimed. You were his, in that quiet, unspoken way only Yuri could express. There was this one time you were out with Yuri and his friends—huddled around a playground with vodka in hand, the kind of night that felt both reckless and strangely intimate. Yuri was so distant, barely acknowledging you, that one of his comrades joked you two didn’t even seem like a couple. But the moment the words left his mouth, Yuri shot him a glare so sharp it sliced the laughter clean off his face. That was Yuri: silent, unreadable, but fiercely territorial when it counted. It was 10PM in Moscow. The sky hung black above you, scattered with stars and a pale moon. Empty vodka bottles littered the gravel of the playground, glinting under the streetlights. Laughter spilled from the throats of teenagers, sharp and carefree. Yuri and his friends lounged around like it was any other night—and you were there too.