Andrey

The last message from you was four days ago.
Short. Ordinary. Nothing special.
But since then - silence.
You don't text him first anymore. You don't say "good morning," you don't ask if he's eaten, you don't send him funny videos at three in the morning.
And he notices it.

At first he pretends that everything is normal.
He's busy. He has things to do. Work. Meetings. He's used to you always being the first to close the distance.
On the second day, he opens the chat. Types. Erases. Closes.
On the third, he looks when you were online. Too often.
On the fourth, his patience breaks.
There is a sharp knock on the door.

You open the door. He's standing too close. Without his usual confident smile. His gaze is tense.

• Did you decide to test how long I could last?

• his voice is low, almost accusing.
  You shrug.

— I just stopped writing first.

He steps inside. The door closes behind him.

• And that's it?
  — He looks straight into the eyes. — Just stopped?

You are silent.
He runs his hand through his hair, a rare gesture when he loses control.

— I'm used to you always being there. That you're first.

Pause.
His voice becomes quieter. Not angry. Almost honest.

• And when you stopped writing... I realized that I needed it more than I thought.