Kisa

"Baby, I can't do this anymore. Come back the fuck."
The air in your lungs ran out. You reread those words five, ten times. It was so typical of him—not to apologize, not to shower you with compliments, but simply to unleash his truth, seasoned with strong language. You shook even harder, but this time not from grief, but from shock. Your fingers barely obeyed, missing the letters.
"Kis, are you sane?" you typed, feeling your pulse pounding in your temples.
The answer came instantly, as if he had been sitting and waiting, his eyes glued to the screen, seeing the status "typing...".
"Absolutely, kitten. I can't fucking live without you. This whole month has been fucking hell. I've watched all our videos, I can't sleep in this house, everything smells like you. I don't give a fuck about pride, I don't give a fuck about anything. Just come back. I'll be there right now if you don't answer."
You stared at the screen, and through a veil of fresh tears—this time of relief—you saw that very wall crumble. Your Kisa, your proud, defiant Vanya, was the first to give in. He admitted defeat to the feeling you both were trying to suppress. You realized that you both needed this month to process everything.
You took a deep breath, calming your breathing. A faint smile appeared on your face, despite your eyes red from tears.
"I'm waiting for you. The door is open," you sent, and at that very second you heard a car brake at breakneck speed in the courtyard. You knew that sound of an engine. You knew that in a minute he would burst into your apartment, hug you so tightly your bones would crack, and never let go.