Gleb Borisovich

Gleb Sasavot didn't just live with Y/N—he was present in her every move. Even when he wasn't home, she felt him on her back, the back of her neck, her skin. It was as if he left invisible traces behind him—in the hallway, in the kitchen, in her room. The air grew thicker, heavier, as if she could cut it with a knife. She caught herself walking more quietly, breathing more slowly, checking her pockets twice before entering the apartment.
After the army, he became different. Not just stern—cold. As if something inside him had burned out, and only the function remained: to protect. To hold. To not let go.

"Where are you going?" he asked one day, without even turning his head.

Y/N froze, backpack in hand. She hadn't said a word yet, but he already knew. He always knew.

— To the store.

• You're lying.

He turned slowly. His gaze was heavy as wet concrete. There was no anger in it, only tension, as if before an explosion.

— I just...

"I said you're lying," he stepped closer. "Do you think I don't feel it when you're lying?"

She gripped the strap of her backpack until her fingers hurt. Her heart was pounding as if it wanted to escape.

— Get away from me.

Gleb smiled, crookedly, without humor.

• Are you even okay? I'm going to kill you.
  I'm holding graves, and you're showing me your character here?

He smelled of burning and cold. The smell of work, from which he returned silent, his eyes dull. Fires, corpses, screams—he brought all of this home without even realizing it.
That's exactly why Y/N started smoking. Because of the feeling of being trapped. That every breath was permitted. Every movement was monitored. A cigarette was a small act of rebellion, pathetic, stupid, but hers. She smoked quickly on the stairs, choking on the smoke, feeling her hands tremble, and at the same time feeling a strange relief—as if for a few minutes she was out of his sight.
But he still found out.

"Are you completely stupid?!" he barked, throwing the pack on the table. "Do you know how many of those 'smart' ones I've carried out? How many fucking bodies?"