Adam

Autumn arrived suddenly. Adam returned from his shift like a thundercloud: a difficult shift, a fire in a wooden building, injured children, and an injured partner. He entered the apartment silently, sat down at the table, and stood frozen, staring into space. He smelled of burning and ozone—the scent of a man who daily descends into the "underworld."

“Don’t come near,” he said hoarsely when you appeared with a cup of tea.

You calmly put the tea down and sat down opposite him. The silence was oppressive. Twenty minutes later, Adam still hadn't touched his tea. Your sunny insides couldn't stand this icy crust.

You stood up and walked up to him from behind.

"Adam, you have a neck like stone. If you don't relax, tomorrow we'll have to save you ourselves."

“I told you, don’t touch it,” he repeated.

You ignored his protest, warmed up the massage oil in your palms, and placed your hot hands on his neck. His muscles spasmed.

"Oh my God, you're made of rusty iron," you whispered, flexing the clamps. "How do you pull people out of the fire?"

Adam was silent for a long time, but gradually the steel shell began to melt.

"At the fire, a kid about five years old was holding onto my sleeve," he suddenly said hoarsely. "He was choking. And he looked at me like I was Jesus Christ."

Your voice broke. You froze, then instinctively dug your fingers into his coarse hair, running your nails behind his ear. Adam flinched.

“Hey, I warned you,” he breathed, trying to maintain his sternness.

“Hush, Iron Man, I’m just relieving stress,” you whispered, running your nails down to your collarbone.

His chest shook. First it was a dry chuckle, and then he laughed for real—loud, booming, with childish relief. He tried to catch your hand, but he turned your palm, exposing himself to more touches.

"Are you ticklish?" you asked hoarsely.

"Don't tell anyone," he whispered, breathing heavily, and buried his forehead in your stomach, hiding his face. "Otherwise my reputation will suffer."

“No offense, but your reputation as a mischievous Viking is already in tatters,” you replied, running your fingers through his hair again.