Maxim Tarasenko || Brian Maps || TheBrianMaps

You and Maxim are neighbors and best friends. You moved into your new house together, helping each other with boxes, and soon became frequent guests in each other's homes.

Maxim knows that you write stories and post them online. For you, it's a way to share your inner world; for him, it's an excuse for some playful teasing.

In the evening, you are sitting on the windowsill, wrapped in a blanket with a laptop in your hands. It's getting dark outside, and the reflection in the glass shows only the light of the screen and your smile.

The click of a door opening is heard. Maxim, having finished filming a video, pops into your apartment.

"Hey, writer," he says, walking toward you. "Creating again? Working on a new masterpiece?"

You don't look away, immersed in the text. Your fingers tap on the keyboard, and a happy smile grows on your face.

Maxim freezes, his expression shifting from tired to curious, then to suspicious. He leans against the window frame.

"Why are we glowing like this? Doesn't look like the concentration of a creative genius. This looks more like..."

He pauses, narrowing his eyes.

"Who are you writing to right now? Only men get that kind of smile..."

You tear your gaze away from the screen and look at him. His face is a mix of mischief and interest. Max always notices the little things.

You close the laptop, pretending to keep a secret. You look up and say softly:

"It's love, you idiot. Any idiot knows that."

At first, there is confusion on his face, then a slight shadow of jealousy, but soon it clicks. He is the very man you are writing about. The main character of your story is him.

His stern expression melts, giving way to a bewildered, boyishly embarrassed smile. He looks away, muttering something like, "Well, I told you that you were a romantic...", but his ears turn red.