My beloved boy has returned to me. These simple words still echo inside, resonating in my heart. His confession — that he loves me, no matter what — feels like a warm blanket, sheltering me from the cold of doubt. I don't always feel worthy of him... But, succumbing to selfishness and that part of me that can't imagine life without him, I allow myself to be near him.
I haven't fully come to terms with everything that has happened. It feels like my soul is walking barefoot over shards of glass, and every movement is painful. But this morning... it's as if it starts to piece me back together. Every minute with him becomes a soft light, pushing away the darkness. His presence is healing — not loudly, not conspicuously, just... there.
I embrace him, inhaling his scent — that familiar, beloved scent that can't be mistaken for anything else. It soaks into my skin, into my memory, into my very heart. And with every second, I feel lighter. The bad dissolves like smoke, and only we remain — the true, real us.
I sit in the chair, almost enchanted. I can't tear my eyes away — I look at him, and my heart freezes in wonder. How beautiful he is. That light, his movements, the features of his face, so familiar they make me shiver... Everything about him is mine, yet so impossible.
Maxim is wearing a black T-shirt that I once chose for him. It emphasizes his figure, fitting his body just like a touch. I always try to find something special for him — and it seems I haven't been mistaken. He looks like he stepped off a magazine cover, and yet — so familiar, mine. And more than anything... more than anything, I love seeing him naked, when there are no clothes, no masks, no words between us — only glances and breath.
Max takes ice cream out of the freezer and puts it in the microwave. He fiddles with it as if it were a science. And I just watch, catching myself falling in love again. With him. With us.
"I think the ice cream should be warm, but not hot. Because cold ice cream would feel unpleasant on the body," he says, giving me a quick, playful glance. There's a barely perceptible hint of playfulness in his voice, as if he knows where our conversation is headed, and it amuses him.
I just look at him, once again amazed at how beautiful he is. Not just outwardly — though that's beyond doubt. His face, now without that silly hairstyle, is revealed in all its clear, masculine, almost cinematic beauty. Back then, earlier, he had looked ordinary, even a little unnoticed — and perhaps that's why I felt like a winner when I was the first to "see" him. But now... now he's like a star, and I understand perfectly why that girl tried to kiss him.
And still... the thought of it fills me with fury. I want to tear her apart, erase her from the face of the earth. I see her lips moving toward him, and something inside me snaps. He's mine. I'm the first to feel him, the first to understand who he really is — and I don't need anyone trying to take what has become a part of me.
It is in that moment, in that sting of jealousy, that I realize — he doesn't just like me. This isn't a fleeting crush. This feeling goes much deeper. Almost frighteningly so, as if I'm dissolving into him, losing myself — but not wanting to be found.
"What do you think?"
After our first night, everything changes. Not physically. Spiritually. It isn't just the coming together of bodies — it's the merging of souls. And when I later see him, pale, lifeless, on a hospital bed... for a moment, I truly believe I have lost him forever. The world seems to darken. My heart drops into my feet, my breath hitched. The panic is so overwhelming that I could do something stupid, if not for Vi, who is there and holds onto me. I am trembling, not from the cold, but from the terror.
That moment turns me upside down. Like a shock of electricity. I realize — I can't live like that anymore. Thoughtlessly, as if there is an eternity ahead. There is no eternity. There is him. And there is us — and that's the only thing that matters.
I decide — from now on, it will be different. No more parties, empty hangouts, cheap alcohol, and strangers. Only what matters. Only what makes me better for him. If he suggests something — I'll think about it. But on my own? Never again. I've been given a chance — a chance I never even dreamed of before. And I won't let myself squander it.
I look at Maxim — no, I stare at him, as if into a fire on a winter night. In his features, there is everything: a home you want to return to, a shoulder to lean on, and eyes you drown in, losing track of time. My heart beats a little faster, but no longer out of anxiety — but from an inner, almost aching certainty. He is here. With me. Real.
Something warm, deep, stirs in my chest — a desire not just to touch, but to touch with destiny. I want a future with him. Not fantasies, not illusions, not those ephemeral "maybes," but something tangible, real, full of soft morning hugs, shared coffee, debates over blankets, and kisses for no reason. Maybe even a family. With him — yes. I want to change for that. Because he... he's my meaning. My axis. My choice.
"Katrin?" His voice breaks into my thoughts like a spring breeze — light, yet awakening. I blink, as if waking up, and meet his gaze — warm, attentive, slightly worried.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly, tilting his head as if trying to look into the very essence of me.
"Yes," I quickly smile, realizing that I got lost in my own thoughts. "I just... was thinking."
He doesn't press, doesn't demand an explanation — just nods, and that light, barely noticeable smile appears on his lips, the one that always makes my heart ache.
"So, what's with the ice cream?" I quickly add, trying to lighten the mood, bringing back warmth and ease.
"It's ready," he answers with that special expression on his face, the one that means he already has a plan — and he isn't going to tell me about it.
He approaches and places the ice cream bucket in my hands, as if it were not just a treat, but something far more important. A gift. A symbol. Ice in my hands, but fire in my heart.
Just as I am about to turn, heading for the bedroom, the air seems to shift, and I gasp in surprise — he scoops me up in his arms, effortlessly, as if I weigh nothing, and throws me over his shoulder.
The world turns upside down — literally. Everything that was under control suddenly becomes fragile, like a soap bubble. I feel my hair cascading down, brushing my cheeks, his strong hand holding me securely, the other supporting my thigh. His body next to mine — warm, strong, alive — instills a strange, comforting sense of security, as if everything in the world might not be so scary, with him by my side.
"Max!" I laugh, instinctively tapping his back with my fist. "What are you doing?"
He is silent. He only tightens his hold on me, as if afraid to let go. In that silence, there is more than words can express — fear, relief, tenderness. It envelops me like a soft blanket, soaked in his warmth. And only when we reach the bed does he finally, slowly, with almost ceremonial tenderness, lower me onto the blanket — so carefully, as if I were made of glass. His hands still hold me, as if he isn't ready to fully loosen his grip.
But before he can step back, inhale, or take a step back to safety — I pull him in. With my hands — firmly, with my legs — intentionally, with my heart — completely. I don't just want him to stay. I crave his presence, like a desert craves rain. My body responds to his closeness with a thousand invisible threads, stretching from my soul to his.
He stays. Stays, as if there is something right, fated, about it. His body melds with mine — carefully, but with no more hesitation. Only a slight surprise in his eyes, as if I catch him off guard again... But that smile — oh, that smile — how I have missed it.
The one that appears only for me. Warm, sincere, like the sun breaking through the clouds. It holds everything — boyish mischief, shyness, joy, and a quiet happiness, as if he himself can't quite believe we are here, together, now. That I am under him, in his arms, so real, alive, and present.
And I smile in response. Not just with my lips — but with all of me. With my fingers, tracing his back. With my eyes, holding all the tenderness I have kept for him. With my heart, beating in time with his breath.
"And what is that?" I whisper, looking into his eyes. Deeply. Piercingly. With everything I feel.
"In case you suddenly start thinking again and forget about me before you reach the bed," he bends toward me, his lips almost touching mine. "I thought I'd better play it safe."
"I will never forget you," I whisper, almost not believing that this moment is real. My palm rests on his cheek, and I kiss him. Long. Slowly. Deeply. As if for the last time. As if for the first.
I feel his body pressing against mine, his breath quickening. Fingers slide into his hair, gently, tenderly, as if afraid he might melt away, disappear, dissolve like a dream.
"I'm so happy you're back to me, my dear..." I say through the kisses, and there are tears in my voice that haven't been there.
Maxim closes his eyes, tilting his head into my palm, like a cat, seeking affection.
"It feels like I really haven't been here this whole time..." There is so much sadness in that, my heart clenches for a moment.
I lean toward his ear.
"Well, then we need to make up for lost time," I say in a different voice. Velvet, warm, confident. Not forgiveness — an invitation. Not words — fire.
My fingers are in his hair again, but this time — stronger. I pull him toward me, to my neck, where my heart beats especially hard, and I feel a tremor ripple through my body.
Time ceases to exist. The room disappears. Only breath, skin, touches, and that quiet, sacred feeling remain — when two people, at last, become one again.
He starts trailing his nose down my neck, slowly, deliberately teasing, making shivers run down my skin. His breath is hot, whispered, and every exhale becomes like electricity coursing through my body. I can't hold back anymore — this game is driving me crazy.
I lean toward him, start covering his neck with kisses, hot, demanding. Sometimes gently biting his skin, leaving marks — signs, as if proving to the world that he is mine. Maxim melts under me, his breath hitching, and he occasionally lets out muffled groans that make everything inside me tremble.
But suddenly, he stops.