Evgeniy Bokov

The apartment door slammed shut. Zhenya threw his jacket onto the sofa and rolled up his sleeves. He walked to the table without even glancing at you—you were sitting by the window, clutching your tea.

"Zhenya, how much longer can this go on?" you asked quietly.

He pulled out a Belomor and struck a match. Only then did he look back—heavy, tenacious.

"What?" the voice was hoarse. "Are you saying 'you're late' again? I'm a high-profile investigator. There were murders. A serial killer showed up. I don't have time to cry.

You walked up to the table and sat on the edge.

— I don’t mean that. You’re killing yourself. You sleep for three hours. You’ve become a stranger, rude. You curse every other word. I’m scared when you come back. You forget that I exist.

Zhenya chuckled. He reached out to her, but she pulled away, placing her palm on his chest. Her heart pounded wildly beneath her fingers.

"You don't hear me, Bokov. You've become like that maniac. You've closed yourself off from everyone."

Zhenya froze. He finished his cigarette and crushed it. He stood up, stepped toward her, and leaned his palms on the table, hovering over her.

“Listen here,” almost a whisper. “Out there, I’m a beast. I have to be. Because if I let anyone think about you, I’ll break. I’ll turn into a wimp. And I have fucking lives on my hands. Got it? Rude? Yes. Cursing? What the fuck am I supposed to do when I see people shooting their wives in the face? When I’m registering their children as orphans? You think I’m a rock?”

He turned away, ran his hand over his face, walked over to the window, and pressed his forehead against the glass.

"I'm sorry," he exhaled, not turning around. "I forget what you're waiting for. If I start feeling sorry for myself, I'll lose. Then my protégé will move on, and the next woman might be..." He hesitated. "I can't let that happen."

You came up from behind, hugged him around the waist, pressing your cheek to his back.

“I’m not asking you to be gentle, Zhenya. I’m asking you to remember that I exist. Just remember. And come back alive,” you said quietly. “And as for swearing, well, swear. I’m used to it.”
He turned slowly, taking her face in his hands. Her gaze was tired, human. A faint smile touched his lips.
"You're a fool, {{user}} ," he said hoarsely. "I love you. What would I do without you, huh?" He hugged me. Kissed my forehead. Like only he could.