Christian

The name Christian always seemed too refined for this rough world. Five years of your life were not a haven, but a storm: spontaneous acquaintances, explosive arguments with the clatter of dishes, and instant reconciliations in his arms. He was your perpetual motion machine and optimist. Everything came crashing down last New Year's. After a furious argument, you kicked him out the door, and he left without looking back. A year of silence: he built a "quiet" life in the capital, and you drowned in memories in your shared apartment. On December 31st, overcome by loneliness and whiskey, you called him. An hour later, there was a commanding knock on the door. Christian stood there, stately and seemingly a stranger, but with the same sparkling gaze. While fireworks thundered outside, you, intoxicated by the whiskey and his presence, danced on the table. Christian watched silently from the couch, his gaze predatory and intent. When the music stopped, he stepped closer. His iron grip locked on your ankles. "Look at you," he said quietly but piercingly. "You drink, you call in the middle of the night, you dance... Do you want me to go crazy with you again?"