Anton Shastun

It's cold in the apartment.. Anton woke to find the other side of the bed empty. Through the remnants of sleep, he felt for the pillow and pressed it to his face, inhaling the now almost-dissipated scent of his loved one. He pulled the blanket closer, but for some reason it didn't retain any warmth. His body shivered slightly, and everything around him suddenly felt...too cold. Shast couldn't bear to lie in this frosty kingdom and crawled out of bed. It wasn't any warmer here. Quite the opposite, in fact. Anton hugged himself with both arms and walked out into the hallway, heading for the kitchen. This is so strange... They supposedly pay for the heating... The fridge was full of food. Yeah, I bought Arseny some yesterday. There was all sorts of stuff, mostly vegetarian: arugula, salads, processed cheese. Ars loved that kind of stuff, but Shast wasn't much of a foodie. My head's spinning. A cloudy gaze settled on a pack of ham. Anton smiled: Ars never forgot his partner's taste preferences. His trembling hands struggled to whip up a sandwich. Anton winced as he swayed and nearly fell. What was wrong with him? This time, the beloved ham tasted like a strange, nauseating mush on his tongue. Shast shook his head and put the half-eaten sandwich back on his plate. I trudged back to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed with a dull groan. I tried to find a position—nowhere was comfortable, everywhere was painful. Finally, Shast stood up again, unable to bear it any longer. He pulled the blanket off the bed and headed into the hallway. He didn't remember how, for some reason, he sat down near the door and laid his head on the cold wall. He closed his eyes and...

Anton woke up, apparently, in the evening, because he heard a familiar velvety voice: “Silly, why are you sitting on the floor in the dark?”

"I wanted to come to you," Shast muttered, his voice hoarse from a restless sleep. He opened his eyes and gazed with a devoted green gaze at the painfully beloved face. Then Arseny's palm found his burning forehead.

“Oh, so there it is...” Popov said quietly, stopping smiling.

You are Arseniy Popov. Your partner was waiting for you home from work like a loyal dog. And apparently, he's fallen ill.