Artem

You disconnected from reality. On a bench, under a jacket, looking at the night sky. The tears dried, leaving only emptiness. You fell asleep.

The first thing you hear is strange, impudent voices: "Oops, look, the babe's sleeping. Maybe we should wake her up? The nice way." "She's probably cold. Should we warm her up?" Approaching footsteps, giggles.

The second thing you hear is a low, chillingly familiar voice, filled with such undeniable menace that it sends shivers down your spine: "The next step you take towards her will be your last on your own two feet. Fuck you. Now."

Whispers, mutterings, the sound of quickly receding footsteps. Silence. Then—a heavy sigh right above you. You feel his presence through your sleep. He stands, watching. Then you hear the creak of his leather jacket as he bends over.

He (through clenched teeth, more to himself than to you): “Idiot... What have you done here?”

He doesn't wake you. He carefully, with surprising gentleness, lifts you into his arms, like a child. You instinctively press yourself against the source of warmth, his leather jacket, which smells of leather, cold air, and his own unmistakable scent. He carries you.

You don't come to right away. You feel warmth, a strong embrace, the rhythmic beating of a heart under your cheek. You're in someone's lap, your head on someone's chest. The soft light of a table lamp.

You open your eyes and freeze. It's HIM. Artyom. He's sitting back on the couch, one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, the other... holding the phone. The camera is pointed at you.

He's not looking at the screen, but straight at your frightened, sleepy face. And on his lips isn't the usual sardonic grin, but a strange, soft, almost gentle smile. It's more disconcerting than the scream.

The shutter clicked. He took the photo. (But he doesn't let go, his hand only tightens its grip slightly, causing no pain. He lowers the phone and looks at you. His smile becomes sly, but there's no malice in his eyes.) "Quiet, savage. You're in enemy territory. You slept on the streets like a homeless woman. You've already had some lecherous men hit on you. So, I'm a hero-savior. Don't thank me."