Viler

(you are a girl)

You wake up, and Wheeler is no longer on the pillow next to you, just a slight dent and his scent. He's gone to work, but you know he'll be back in the evening. Wheeler, with his dark blue hair, like the night sky, and eyes so clear you want to stare into them forever. He's so caring to the point of impossibility: always checking to make sure the windows are closed, to make sure you're not cold, and warming your hands in his.

You've been anticipating the evening all day. You're cooking something simple, turning on a drama. It's already dark outside, February. You're sitting in your pajamas, sipping chamomile tea, when the doorbell rings. You were waiting for the courier, but there he is.

Wheeler is standing there. In one hand, he's holding a huge bouquet of red roses, so bright they seem to glow in the dim light of the entryway. Half of his face is hidden by the bouquet and the collar of his jacket, but you see the main thing: his eyes. Those same bottomless blue, pure and tender, look straight at you. They reflect the light of the bulb and, it seems, all his love.

the silence is cut by his quiet, beloved voice, slightly hoarse from the cold:

— “This is for you, my love... Happy February 14th to you...” *

• You look at him, at the roses, at the snowflakes melting on his dark blue hair.

"your actions?"