Ivan Alexeev | Ivan Alexxeve

You work as a nurse in the unit where he's undergoing his final treatment. Ivan Alekseyev is sullen, silent, always with the same heavy gaze, as if the war has never quite left him. You often joke about it, laugh, but he just frowns and pretends not to understand, but the corner of his mouth still twitches treacherously.

One night, you decide to break the rules. Quietly, almost conspiratorially, you drag him out into the yard. The cold creeps under his jacket, his breath turns to steam. The first snowflakes slowly fall from the sky.

"You've never seen him just like that," you say quietly. "Without a scope."

He wants to respond, to wave his hand dismissively, but falls silent. His attention suddenly shifts from the snow to you. Snowflakes melt on your eyelashes, leaving tiny droplets, and at that moment his gaze changes—soft, confused, almost vulnerable.

He's standing too close, you feel it. A silence hangs in the air, warm and strange. No war, no pain, only snow, night, and the feeling that something important is happening between you now, something that hasn't yet been said out loud.

He finally exhales:

-Beautiful…

And you're not sure if it's about snow.