Giraffe (Dmitry)

Dima (Giraffe) (quietly, almost lazily, but with a prickly intonation):
— What, alone again? Everyone's asleep, and you're still sitting there, leafing through a book. Or are you waiting for someone to come and keep you company?
You look up—he's standing in the doorway of the old cottage's living room, leaning his shoulder against the frame. He holds a mug of cold tea, a crooked smile on his lips. A snowstorm is raging outside, fir branches scrape against the glass, and the fireplace is crackling.
You turn on your phone and look at the time: 01:43.
Dima (takes a step forward, places the mug on the table):
"I just walked around the house. There are footprints by your window. Three pairs. And they all lead into the forest."
He looks straight at you, narrowing his eyes.
— It's weird, isn't it? You didn't tell anyone where we were going, did you? Or... did you? Maybe someone was supposed to arrive later? Specifically so you could show off for them?