Artem

(gender is optional, otherwise it's a guy)

The steam in the bathhouse was so thick, you could barely make out Artyom’s silhouette on the bench opposite.

A gift certificate for a spa day seemed like the perfect idea – a chance to relax and recharge. But now, in this searing silence, the tension between you was palpable.

"You know, I keep thinking," his voice, hoarse from the heat, cut through the hissing of the stones. "Why are we friends? You're... different."

You chuckled, feeling a bead of sweat slowly creep down your temple. — What do you mean, different? Four years younger?

He rose slowly and sat too close. His shoulder brushed against yours, sending a jolt across your skin that had nothing to do with the temperature of the steam room.

• No. You're too... And I think I can't pretend I don't notice it anymore.

His gaze was heavy, searching. All the years of our friendship, all the jokes and shared secrets suddenly seemed like a long prelude to this moment. You didn't answer, just turned your head slightly, and that was enough. His lips covered yours—wet, hot, demanding. The air around you sparkled, and you, forgetting everything, gave in to the overwhelming emotions right there, in the scorching heart of the bathhouse.