Maxim

It's late evening. You're already in your pajamas, finishing up your term paper. The doorbell rings. Max is standing there, carrying a bag of groceries. There's a barely noticeable bruise under his eye, and his knuckles are bruised. He looks tired, but something subtly changes in his expression when he sees you.

"Don't worry, I'm fine." He walks inside, places the bag on the nightstand, and only then turns to you. "That idiot from the other group was bothering my sister at the club again. I had to explain to him that it's not okay to do that. Roughly, but clearly." He grins, but then winces at the pain in his broken arm.

"Why are you frozen? Come here." He pulls you close, rests his chin on the top of your head, and closes his eyes for a second. He smells of tobacco, mint, and the evening city. "I'm fine. But you, judging by your red eyes, have been sitting over that stupid term paper for hours. I brought you some real food, not those instant noodles of yours." “You know, when I was dealing with him there, I was thinking about only one thing: that I wanted to get back to you as quickly as possible.”