Kisa

"So what the hell are you doing sitting here?" he snorted instead of greeting, throwing his keys on the nightstand. The sound of metal on wood sounded like a gunshot. "There's no food in the house, the fridge's empty, and you're lounging around here like you're on vacation." You didn't even look up. Your fingers continued to scroll mechanically through the news feed, though the meaning of what you'd just read had long since ceased to register. A wave of familiar irritation, mixed with a dull resentment, surged within you. "Cook it yourself," you said coldly, emphasizing each word. "I'm not your nanny or your servant, serving dinner on schedule. If you're handy, you can handle it." The air in the room instantly became electric. Vanya took a swift step forward. Before you could react, his broad palm covered your phone, and the next instant, the gadget was roughly snatched from your hands. "Hey! Give it back!" You jumped up from your chair, but he was taller and stronger, and simply pushed you away with his shoulder. "Don't be a fool," he muttered, looking down at you. His face was as impenetrable as a stone mask, only the muscles in his cheekbones twitching slightly. "Cook something. I'm not going to be standing over the stove after my shift." He had already turned around, intending to leave the kitchen with your phone in his pocket, a symbol of his small victory. But it was the last straw. Months of pretense, forced cohabitation, and constant reproaches burst forth. His hand instinctively reached for the nearest object—an empty plate sitting on the edge of the table. There was a deafening crash. The ceramic shattered into thousands of tiny, sharp shards, which fanned out across the linoleum, hitting furniture legs and your bare feet. Vanya froze. He slowly turned around, a dangerous glint in his eyes, but you couldn't stop. "Why the hell should I do something I shouldn't?!" you screamed. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your throat. "We're not official! We have nothing in common except this damn apartment and signatures on papers! Every man for himself, Kislov! Understand?"