The little rusty screen flickered in Dimitri's hands. The pixelated screen showed a goofy customized character holding a sword while dramatic hero music blared from the tiny speakers.
"Every world needs someone willing to stay behind."
The guy stared at it for a second.
Then he snorted and tossed the handheld console onto the pillow beside him.
"Wow. What a dumb thing to say. All that work for a philosophical congratulations message."
Beside him, Evie lay on her stomach across the bed, legs bent at the knees, her feet lazily kicking in the air. A glossy fashion magazine was spread open in front of her. Every time she turned a page, it made that soft crinkling sound cheap paper always did.
"What's stupid?" she asked, playfully nudging him with her foot.
"This line." Dima picked the console back up and waved it at her. "I spent a week grinding this stupid game just to get some philosopher nonsense."
Evie laughed quietly.
"You play games where you kill dragons and save princesses. What kind of ending did you expect?"
"A cool sword, hidden scenario, new unlocked character, ANYTHING?"
"Its telling you to go read a book"
"..."
He sighed dramatically and rolled onto his side, propping his head on his arm.
"Whatever, any new proposals?" he asked suddenly.
Evie raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Huh? Proposals?"
"Marriage proposals. Letters. Weird gifts like a teddy bear with a bomb inside. Anything like that." His tone turned slightly more serious. "I'm worried, you know. That fan from last time was... persistent."
Evie blinked once, but then she smiled, chuckling.
"Dimka, Mitya, my dear paranoid friend." She leaned over and flicked his forehead lightly. "TIl be fine, it's not like I am a famous beauty model."
Right at that moment his old flip phone buzzed loudly in his pocket.
Dima froze.
"...Oh shit."
Evie tilted her head.
"Oh?"
"I have a shift today."
He bolted upright so suddenly the mattress bounced. The magazine slipped out of Evie's hands and fell onto the floor.
"You forgot?" She said, annoyed, looking at her handwatch. "You start in what... ten minutes?"
"Eight."
"Dimka." She looks at him with a judging face.
"I know!"
He scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over his own shoes while pulling on his fur jacket. He looked side to side trying to find his bag before remembering leaving it by the kitchen. He grabs a spare key and heads off, waving her a quick goodbye before running downstairs to their massive panelka (apartment) complex. The shop was a block away, tucked beneath a 4 story Khrushchyovka, the kind of aging building where every balcony looked like it might fall off if someone leaned too hard on it. However the vibe of drinking tea in the winter while large metal radiators connected to hot water pipes were heating the house was immaculate.
The shop itself was cluttered with many wires connected to outlets, knotted together. An almost fallen poster of the gaming tournament that happened a few years ago. Narrow isles with cheap handmade electronics.
Dima belonged there.
His oversized clothes, messy outgrown hair, dark circles rested permanently beneath his eyes from too many late nights spent staring at glowing screens. He was not particularly handsome. But he was not ugly either. He simply had the kind of face people forgot quickly, the kind that blended easily into the background of a crowd. He threw his bag over the counter, jumping over it too, sneaking into the back room like he was not late, but a hit on the head knocked him back to reality. His manager, Kyryll, was already behind him, arms folded with a mad expression.
"...Closing shift. No arguments." he said stoically, making Dima whine. Kyryll was like an older brother figure to Dima, he was the one who was here during his first break up or when his dad got arrested and he nearly ended up on the streets.
"I was only 7 minutes late!." he exclaims, offended.
"You say that every time."
Dima shrugged his shoulders, staggering over to the pile of computers he needed to repair. Some had broken screens, one had sticky keyboards from cola. Another one would simply not start. One after another he went into a working state. Sometimes customers passed by, some kids sneaked in trying to steal something, then an old man was yelling at Dima for why they didn't have his 5 year old computer password saved.
Dima grabbed another console from Kyryll's hands. He pulled a small screwdriver from the pocket of his jeans and began loosening the remaining screws that held the case together. This work was quite easy.
Unscrew.
Slide the panel aside.
Check the cables.
Working with computers was strangely calming. Machines followed rules. Each component and part simply had a specific purpose, and every malfunction had a logical cause. If something broke, there was always a reason for it.
You simply had to follow the wires until you found the mistake.
People did not work like that.
People like those fucking stalkers Evie had to face were exactly the reason Dima could never relax completely. Evangeline was pretty. She was young, fresh out of college, with a bright smile and the kind of gentle expression that made strangers trust her almost immediately. She had always been the type people liked pointing at as an example.
Top grades, nice image, soft hearted.
The kind of girl mothers would nudge their children toward and say, "Look at her. That's what a good student should be like." The perfect example child, if you knew what people meant by that.
But what Evangeline lacked was something much simpler.
Awareness.
She was WAY too trusting! Which infuriated the guy each day. To her, people were just people. Admirers were flattering. Fans were harmless. Even when someone's behavior crossed the line, she had a tendency to brush it off with a laugh and assume they simply meant well. However Dima knew better.
People could be strange. Obsessive. Unpredictable.
That was why things like flowers appearing outside their apartment door bothered him far more than they bothered her. Evie would laugh it off and say someone must have just been trying to be romantic.
Dima saw warning signs.
He always had.
Maybe it was because he had known her for so long.
He and Evie had known each other since childhood. They had grown up on the same streets, gone to the same schools, and somehow followed each other all the way through college without ever drifting apart. Most people assumed they were already a couple. They weren't. Not officially, anyway. Dima had never said anything. The truth was embarrassingly simple. He had liked her for years, but somewhere along the way that quiet childhood crush had turned into something heavier that he no longer knew how to talk about without feeling ridiculous. So he kept it to himself and Evie probably didn't even realize it. To her, he was just Mitya. Her childhood friend. The guy who fixed her laptop whenever it broke and complained when she forgot to lock the door. And honestly, Dima preferred it that way. Because the moment you said something out loud, the moment you tried to change things, there was always a chance you could ruin what you already had.
"You look tired." Kyryl brought him back to the real world. "No I mean you always do but today it's even more depressing, don't ruin my shop image."
"Like you ever had one.." He says quickly to which he gets a glare which means not to cross the line. " I simply didn't sleep much, kept thinking about something."
Kyryll immediately groans, putting hands on his face, rubbing it in exhaustion. "If it's Evangeline confessions again I am not going to take it."
Dima looks at him seriously, making Kyryll pause.
"Is it the stalker again? Gosh Dimka I told you many times if someone dares to lay a finger on you two I'll give them a piece of my mind."
"It's... not that in particular..." Dima replies as he removed RAM sticks and held it under the lamp to observe. "It doesn't feel normal, not like in a way I know this is not normal to begin with but all those actions feel staged. It feels like it's not different people leaving those stuff, but just one. All those letters... they have almost identical handwriting."
"Wait, wait, wait, didn't that guy get arrested?" The man replies, pulling a chair and sitting beside Dimitri.
"He did."
Kyryll leaned forward slightly.
"Then how is he leaving those?"
"He got released."
"What?"
"Apparently standing outside someone's building for four hours isn't illegal." he shrugged.
The black haired man made a face. "That's creepy."
"Very." he said, looking down anxiously.
Dima wiped the RAM stick against the inside of his sleeve before sliding it back into place. Then he reached over and pressed the power button. The console hummed to life immediately. The fans began spinning, and the pixel monitor flickered on with a quiet glow.
Between customers, Dima found himself checking his phone more often than usual. He flipped it open.
No messages and then he closed it again. Five minutes later he checked again. Still nothing. Which should have been reassuring! If not Evie then her worried mother would call him or something. But for some reason everyone was silent.
Evie usually sent something during the day. A photo of a pair of shoes she liked. A complaint about the metro being crowded. A random meme that she found funny.
Today the screen stayed empty.
The blank notification bar felt strangely heavy...
As evening approached, the sky outside the shop windows slowly darkened into a deep blue. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting pale yellow reflections across the glass.
Kyryll leaned back in his chair and balanced it on two legs.
"You're checking your phone like a jealous boyfriend."
"I am a jealous boyfriend," Dima smiled.
"You're not even dating."
"Technicalities."
Kyryll smirked.
"So did she text you?"
"No."
"Maybe she's busy."
"Maybe."
Dima stared at the screen for another moment before finally closing the phone again. He rested his elbows on the counter and rubbed his face with both hands.
"Still," he muttered quietly.
Kyryll raised an eyebrow.
"Still what?"
Dima hesitated, trying to put the vague feeling into words.
"I don't like it."
"Dimka."
"Hm?"
"You're worrying about nothing, last time she simply forgot it at home."
"Yeah."
Dima leaned back in his chair. The metal legs creaked under his weight as he shifted.
Outside, a car passed slowly along the street, its headlights sweeping across the store windows for a brief moment before disappearing into the night.
Dima watched the light fade.
"Probably," he said.
-——————
The shift ended, and Dima shouldered his bag, the familiar weight of tools and cables reminding him of the day's work. Outside, the winter air stabbed at his cheeks, and snow crunched under his boots with each careful step. He zipped his jacket higher, pulled his scarf tighter, and started walking along the dimly lit street, the pale streetlights casting long shadows over the icy sidewalks. Halfway down the block, he stopped. The florist's window glowed with warm yellow light, spilling onto the snow outside. A small bell jingled faintly as he pushed the door open, and the scent of damp flowers and soil filled his nose.
"Evening," the florist said, looking up. "Just looking?"
Dima nodded. "Yeah. For a friend."
He picked a small bouquet of red and yellow tulips, simple enough to be thoughtful without being extravagant. He imagined Evie's fingers brushing against the petals, imagined the faint laugh she might give when she noticed the smell.
When he paid, he cradled the bouquet against his chest like it was precious, because in a way, it was.
The walk continued, slower now, his boots crunching along the icy street as he thought about how to hand her the flowers without making things awkward. Should he leave them by the door? Should he knock and pretend it was casual? Or should he just... stand there and hope she smiled?
He decided on a compromise: he would knock lightly, hand them to her, and leave quickly, just to make sure she had them. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He knocked lightly and the door opened at instant.
"Evie.. did you forget to close it again?" He sighs while taking his boots off, water splashing by the entrance from them. "Is Maria home yet?" He continued while removing his coat and going to the kitchen. Only to see two men.
"Good evening..?" He says awkwardly. For a split second he panicked, thinking someone barged in but after looking at their appearance and uniform he recognized the symbol, the same one her dad had on his tie. Probably the same company. Evie's father was a public figure; it wasn't unusual for strangers to appear unannounced in the house. Maybe these were just guests, official visitors or friends of the family.
"Can I get you something to drink?" He smiled.
The men glanced at each other, then nodded. "Sure," one said.
Dima leaned over to open the fridge, grabbing 3 bottles of beer. "Mister Volkov will probably arrive shortly, he is usually late on Thursday nights." Dima grabbed what he wanted and turned to continue chatting, but as he started to pass the drinks, the taller one suddenly slammed him against the cabinet beside the kitchen. The cold wood pressed into his back, and pain shot through his skull as the edge of the handle scraped across it. A sharp, hot line of blood ran down his temple.
Dima stumbled back instinctively, gripping the stool, confusion and alarm flooding his thoughts. "W-what—"
"We're not here to hurt anyone," the shorter one said quickly, his voice low but firm. "We just need to restrain you for a minute."
Dima's stomach dropped. The taller one pushed again, a bit too hard this time. Pain exploded across the back of Dima's head. Stars danced in his vision. The room spun. The bouquet in his hand toppled to the floor, petals scattering across the linoleum. He needs to run. The door is open, he is fast, just make a turn and-
Evie's shoes by the door. She is in the apartment.
With a surge of adrenaline, he twisted, breaking the hold just enough to stagger away, and ran up the narrow stairwell to the upper floor.
The hallway lights flickered weakly as Dima pushed the door open with his shoulder. Blood had already soaked through his shirt dripping from his head with each step he took. Downstairs, the two of the men were still shouting, trying to catch up onto him.
"Evie?" His voice came out hoarse.
His eyes landed on the bed.
For a moment his mind refused to understand what he was seeing. Evie lays where she always did, half turned toward the window as if she had fallen asleep while waiting. Her hair spread across the pillow.
Dima's breath caught noticing the soaked red sheets.
"No."
He staggered forward, boots dragging across the floor.
"No! No, no, no..."
His knees hit the ground beside the bed, blood smeared across the sheets as he grabbed her shoulder, shaking gently at first, like he was afraid of waking her too quickly.
"Evie... hey... hey, wake up."
Nothing. Her skin was cold.
"Evie, please." His voice broke into something small and desperate. "You're just sleeping, yeah? You always do this.... you fall asleep waiting." He brushed the hair from her face with shaking fingers. His chest hitched as something inside him began collapsing, piece by piece.
"No... no, it can't..." He pressed his forehead against her hand, clutching it like it might disappear. "Evie you said you.. those people why-"
Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
Dima didn't turn.
A gun cocked behind him.
Still he didn't move.
The gunshot cracked through the room.
For a second he didn't feel anything.
Dima's body swayed forward, collapsing beside the bed. His fingers tightened instinctively around Evie's wrist as the strength drained from him.
His head came to rest against the mattress beside her arm. For a second he looked at her, her hair, her lips, her eyes.
"You always said red suited you." he thought looking at her crimson hair color before slowly closing his eyes, her hand in his.