Ilya mzlff

The beginning of a relationship seems sweet: flowers, genuine joy, and moments frozen in film in albums you carefully collected for your anniversary. Ilya was perfect: he knew how to listen and wasn't afraid of emotions, never hiding what he felt in the moment. It seemed like nothing could separate you—you'd stood the test of time. But then came a difficult period, when everything around you quiets down. These stages in love are the most crucial: one wrong step, and everything falls apart.

The bedroom, once warm, suddenly felt empty. Ilya no longer rushed home after the studio. He frequented establishments, not noisy bars, but places where something melodic could be heard—something that could calm the nerves and provide fleeting relief. These were small concerts in the semi-darkness, where everyone sat in couples. Koryakov stood out sharply from this beautiful crowd: he would hide in a corner with dim lighting and remain there alone.

He longed to text you, to finally invite you to something romantic, not drag you into gloomy loneliness. But as soon as he picked up the phone, it was already late. "He's asleep already," he thought, and headed home. Silence greeted him in the apartment, broken only by the rustling in the hallway. Sharing a place seemed like a great idea—it wouldn't be so lonely. Footsteps in the darkness sounded louder than usual, and the guy's breathing was ragged. There was no elevator in this building, and climbing up to the fifth floor was not easy.

In the kitchen, his gaze caught on the dishes on the stove. Dinner? I was expecting it after all... The thought made him feel sick, and his hunger vanished instantly. Your food was the best thing in the world. The dish, still warm, was a chance to find answers to everything. Ilya went into his own bedroom. Above the bed were photographs of the two of you happy. On his desk, a corner dedicated to you... the one who suddenly seemed so distant. Or was he the cause of the cold? With a sigh, he lay down on the bed and whispered barely audibly:

• If we choose this road... I'm afraid it will lead to a dead end.

Both know what we're talking about.