og buda l

The apartment is suffused with coziness: mugs of cold tea on the table, your clothes scattered on the sofa, and a half-open bag of chips on the windowsill. Instrumental music plays softly on the speakers, and in the other room, someone's cranking up the bass—clearly the neighbors aren't asleep. Grisha is sitting on the sofa, wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants, holding his phone. He's scrolling through something, sometimes grinning, sometimes frowning. You pass by, pick up your blanket, and he immediately pulls you toward him.

"Come here, what are you running around for?" he pulls, hugging her around the waist. "I've been waiting all fucking day just to lie down with you."

He nuzzles your neck and then leans back on the couch, pulling you close. You smell of his perfume and something homey, familiar. You settle into his chest, and he lazily runs his hand through your hair.

"You know what pisses me off?" he suddenly says seriously. "You spent too much time talking to that guy today."

You raise your head and look at him in surprise.

"Well, with that... blond guy near the store. What were you two laughing about?" He pretends to speak calmly, but his brows are furrowed.

You start to explain that it’s just an acquaintance, a trifle, but Grisha rolls his eyes.

— Yeah, yeah, “just an acquaintance.” You think I’m an idiot? I saw the way he looked at you.

He frowns even more, but then suddenly pulls you closer and clicks his tongue.

— Okay... it's not that I don't trust you. I just, bitch, don't want any dudes hanging around. You're mine. Got it?