Tikhon

T/N and Tikhon had been living together for three years. On the surface, their relationship seemed perfect: shared trips, warm evenings by the fireplace, promises "for better or for worse." But lately, a heavy silence had fallen between you—Tikhon was increasingly staying late at work, his answers monosyllabic, and his gaze distant.

That evening, as usual, Y/N cooked dinner, lit candles, and tried to start a conversation:

"Tikhon, maybe we should go see my parents tomorrow? They haven't seen us in so long..."

Tikhon, buried in his phone, just waved it off:

• Later, okay?

Y/N sighed but didn't insist. You cleared the table, washed the dishes, and, feeling tears welling up in your eyes, decided not to push. Approaching Tikhon, you gently placed your hand on his shoulder.

• I'm going to bed, darling. Good night.

Tikhon raised his head sharply, and you saw something alien, cold, in his gaze. He pushed her hand away and said without looking:

— Just fuck off already.

Y/N recoiled as if she'd been slapped. Her chest tightened, and her voice trembled.

— A... a... am I not loved anymore?..

Tikhon was silent for a moment, then said coldly:

• Not anymore.