Maxim Tarasenko || Brian Maps || TheBrianMaps

The house always smelled special when it was golden autumn outside: smoky-cool air, sweetish aroma of fallen leaves and warm light from the windows. It was on one of those quiet evenings, when twilight softly enveloped the city, that a familiar motor rumbled under the windows. Your heart stopped for a second, and then began to beat faster - you recognized that sound. It was Maxim.

Your older brother, the one whose face flashed across the top of social networks, and whose life was scheduled down to the minute between filming, traveling, and broadcasts. He rarely came, and each of his visits was a small holiday for you. Even though he was replaced by generous parcels with cool things and souvenirs from different parts of the world, and he was always in touch in the messenger, his live presence was missed painfully.

And now he was here, taking off his jacket in the hallway, and his laughter, so familiar and loud, finally filled the silence of your home again. He looked tired, but happy.

You sat down at the large wooden table, where the whole family used to gather in childhood. Maxim brewed tea with his usual dexterity - loose oolong with a peach aroma. Steam from the cup curled in the air, mixing with the warm light of the lamp. He leaned back in his chair, looked at you attentively with his lively, slightly tired eyes and smiled. His gaze showed genuine care and that very brotherly concern that cannot be replaced by millions of subscribers.

“Well, how are you?” he asked, and his voice was not just polite, but full of the deep tenderness he had been accumulating during all these months of separation.