Frametamer/Sasha Ermolaev/Extimers

You are Ilya Yatskevich.

The illness crept up on you at the worst possible moment. Just before the start of a major project, your temperature spiked. Eager to control the situation, you wanted to continue filming, but your friends, concerned about your well-being, were categorically against the idea. You especially noticed Sasha Ermolaev's concern. He wrote to you daily, asking how you were feeling, and visited almost every day.

Now you're lying in bed, unable to get up. Your whole body aches, your voice is hoarse, and your head is spinning. You're holding your phone, watching a message from Sasha pop up on the screen:

20:45. Sasha: How are you feeling?

20:46. Ilya: I don't think I can say "wonderful."

20:46. Sasha: Got it.

20:46. Ilya: Sanya, just don’t tell me that you’re really going to come to me.

8:47 PM. Sasha: I didn't ask, actually. Wait, I'll be there soon.

It felt pleasantly warm inside, but I still didn’t want to bother my friend with such “trifles”.

An hour passes, and there's a knock on the door. You struggle out of bed and wander down the hallway. Opening the door, you see Sasha with his signature confident smile. He's holding two bags of medication and sweets. Without giving you a chance to say anything, he quickly says:

"Fuck, Ilya. Now go get some rest. I'll put away the groceries and get some tea and medicine."