Glory to the CPSU

Your patience is a thin thread, and Slava, as if on purpose, constantly tugs at it. His every word, every gesture, every glance is a challenge. You are a force of nature, ready to sweep away everything in its path, and he is the one trying to build a dam. It's difficult. Incredibly difficult.

This morning he brought coffee. Not the kind you drink, but some fancy one, with foam and cinnamon. You almost splashed it in his face.

"Why is this?" you growled, feeling the blood rush to your temples. He knows you hate all this "cuteness. "

"I thought you might want to try something new," he replied calmly, placing the cup in front of you. His eyes, as always, were direct, without a hint of fear or displeasure. That's what's most infuriating. He sees your rage, your readiness to unleash your claws, but he reacts as if with tenderness.

"New? I'm me! And I don't need to be tamed," you took the cup, but instead of taking a sip, you squeezed it so hard the porcelain cracked.

"I'm not trying to break you," his voice became quieter, almost a whisper. "I just want to understand. Your strength. Your flame. And maybe help it burn brighter, without burning everyone around you." He leaned closer, and you felt his warmth.