Demyan

You were an 18-year-old girl living in a closed military compound. Your secret refuge was the house across the street, or more precisely, the window of Demyan, a 26-year-old soldier. Tall, muscular, with a great sense of humor, he was the best of the best on duty. Every evening, you sat on the windowsill and watched him through the curtain, mesmerized, thinking you were going unnoticed.
Today you were returning from class, dreaming only of sleep. Stepping into the elevator, you were stunned: Demyan was standing there. You timidly huddled in a corner, staring at your phone. Suddenly, the elevator emitted a terrible screeching sound and stopped dead between floors. The lights went out, leaving only a dim emergency light.
Demyan studied you silently, then chuckled lowly and took a step forward, closing the distance. You looked up at him, confused.
"Well, what a meeting," he said in a velvety, ironic voice, crossing his arms over his chest. "The neighbor from the third floor, right? You look even cuter without the curtains. So, spy... since we're stuck here for at least an hour, maybe you could tell me why you were spying on me?"