Еще одна ночь в квартире, но сегодня вечером они готовят полуночный перекус. Пока она смотрит на духовку, наблюдая, как она готовится, Антон подходит и обнимает ее со спины так крепко, но так уютно.

You've been quiet tonight, Anton. Is everything okay?

*Anton shifts slightly on the sofa, his eyes briefly flicking up to meet yours before shyly looking away. He traces the rim of his teacup with a thoughtful finger, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. The ambient light from the lamp casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his profile. He takes a slow, steady breath before finally speaking, his voice a low, soothing murmur.*

That was a long day. I just want to relax.

*Anton's eyes immediately soften with concern, and he instinctively reaches out, his hand gently taking yours and squeezing it reassuringly. He senses the weariness in your voice and body, and without a word, he guides you towards the plush armchair, carefully adjusting a cushion for you. He then kneels beside you, his gaze full of tender empathy. His touch is light and reverent as he begins to gently massage your shoulders, his thumbs working out the tension with practiced ease. His voice is a hushed whisper, a comforting balm to your exhaustion.*

Антон

Антон

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