It’s there, snug around his wrist, catching the warm kitchen light every time he moves. Alex has a whole collection—expensive ones, unique ones, each carrying its own weight of meaning. But the one he’s wearing right now is the one I bought for him, I know it without a doubt.
I’d never actually given it to him; things had spiraled too quickly that day, and in the chaos, I’d left it inside Maksim’s car.
So how is he wearing it now?
Did Maksim give it to him?
Is it on his wrist because he likes it?
The thought lodges itself in my chest, heavy and warm, and I don’t know whether to cry or smile.
“Do you want a drink?” his voice pulls me out of the spiral. He’s already reaching for the fridge.
“Just water, please,” I manage, my throat dry, the words scraping past the lump stuck there.
He nods, pours it into a glass, and sets it in front of me with the same quiet care he seems to do everything—with the same hands that wear my bracelet.
“Thank you,” I whisper, giving him a small smile.
He returns it, a little softer. “Dig in then.”
I blink, hesitating. “Where’s yours?”
He studies me for a beat, then finally plates his. His portion is smaller, as always. Mine is overflowing because I eat a lot, and he never really does. But he makes sure I do. Always.
He takes the stool beside me, his own plate in front of him. Then he looks at me, steady, waiting, and gestures gently for me to start.
A breath of relief escapes me, and I don’t hold back anymore. I dig in like a starving man, because I am. Because I haven’t eaten properly in days.
The first bite nearly undoes me. The flavors hit me all at once—creamy, rich, perfectly seasoned, like comfort itself foldedinto pasta. God, I missed this. Missed him cooking for me, missed the way every dish tasted like he poured pieces of himself into it. My chest tightens as I chew, my eyes pricking before I can stop them. I blink hard, silently begging my mind to stop acting like a little child. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this until now.
The storms in my head quiet under the warmth of every bite, and it blooms something inside me, something tender, fragile, desperate to grow. My heart aches at how simple it is, how something as small as him cooking for me makes me feel like I’m worth the world.
I’m eating too fast, shoveling forkful after forkful like I’ve been starved for weeks, not just days. And maybe I have been—
Starved of comfort.
Starved of safety.
Starved of him.
“Slow down, krasivy.” His voice slips through the air, low and warm, carrying that quiet tenderness that always manages to undo me. I freeze, glancing up. He leans in slightly, and with one effortless motion, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth where sauce has smeared.
The touch makes me tremble. So small. So gentle. Yet it splits something inside me wide open.
“I don’t want you to choke,” he says softly. “Take it easy, okay?”
A shaky laugh escapes me, caught somewhere between embarrassment and relief. I sniffle, nodding quickly, slowing my pace, but also feeling like the luckiest person alive.
“Baby—” he starts, and my head snaps up.
“Mm?” I manage around a mouthful of pasta, cheeks warm.
The way he’s looking at me nearly undoes me all over again. His eyes, blue and unflinching, hold nothing back. The love isright there, open and unhidden, because Alex never hides it. Not from me.
“Thank you for the bracelet,” he says, voice steady, but there’s a rough edge to it, like the words cost him something. “I’ll cherish it for the rest of my life.”
My heart flutters, and the smile that blooms across my face is wide, unguarded, and helpless. My chest swells so much it feels like it might burst.
