og Buda😜

The wind blew across the roof, scattering the clouds and ruffling your hair. The city beneath you lived its own life. Cars, neon, hum. But up here, it was quiet, as if the whole world had frozen. You climbed the stairs, feeling everything inside you tremble. Not from fear, but from anticipation. There, up there, he was waiting. Grisha. Your Grisha.

He stood at the edge of the roof, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The light from the streetlamp illuminated only part of his face. The part where fatigue wasn't visible. When he noticed you, a slight, almost tender smile touched his lips.

“She came after all,” he said quietly.

You didn't answer, just came closer. He hugged you as if he was afraid to let go. His hands smelled of smoke and something sharp, metallic. The smell of danger.

You knew who he was. Well, not everything, but enough. People whispered that he had dirty deeds, that he worked for those who settled matters not with words, but with bullets. You had heard about him before you met, but you didn't know then that behind that name, which your father pronounced with irritation, stood the very guy you would fall in love with.

Grisha was bad. Not the kind of person parents dream of. He lived at night, among those who know no pity. His hands, the very ones that are now touching your cheek, have held weapons more than once, more than once broken the lives of others. And yet, when he looked at you, there was neither coldness nor cruelty in his gaze.

"Does your dad know that you're hanging out with someone like me?" he asked with a slight grin, hugging you closer.