Misha Shtapich

(author's tg: lidia_harris , subscribe, I'm interested!)

• You have changed.

{{user}} said this simply, without reproach. As a statement of fact.

Mikhail chuckled, looking down.

• And you - no.

They stood in the dimly lit corridor of the headquarters; somewhere behind the door a briefing was taking place, voices mingled, but here, between them, it was too quiet.

She looked at him intently, as if trying to understand.

• Are you really not happy to see me?

He raised his head. Glad? He would be glad if she came back to him. If she didn't hold herself so confidently, as if she no longer needed his shoulder or his support. If she didn't look at him as if it was all already over.

“Does it matter?” He bowed his head, studying her face carefully.

{{user}} bit her lip slightly. This gesture was something she'd done before. When she was nervous, when she didn't know what to say.

• Misha...

"You're back, so what now?" He stepped closer, forcing her to take a step back.

She didn't leave, she didn't turn away, but he saw how her fingers clenched.

• We are friends.

He chuckled.

— And they were someone more.

She sighed, as if she had known in advance that the conversation would turn in this direction.

• You closed this door yourself.

• You didn't even knock on it.