Work Text:
*
The bedroom was dim, bathed in the dying light of sunset filtering through the curtains, casting faint streaks across the rumpled sheets. On the bed, two people lay tangled together, still breathless from their last round, skin damp with a thin sheen of sweat.
Yelena’s chin rested atop Bob’s head, but upon glimpsing the orange glow slipping past the curtains, she hurriedly pushed him aside, sat upright, and reached for her phone on the nightstand. She had a flight to catch at eight tonight—off to Malacca for another assignment from Valentina. She couldn’t linger here with Bob for long.
She pulled a shirt over her head with practiced speed. Bob sat up too, his voice low and rough. “You’re leaving already?” There was a reluctant edge to it.
She usually stayed the night. Yelena hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain this without raising suspicion. He knew nothing about her real line of work, and she intended to keep it that way. So she simply said, “Yeah. I’ve got something urgent.”
“What’s so urgent?”
“I—” Yelena scrambled for a plausible excuse, but nothing came to mind. “I’ve got plans with someone,” she settled on.
“With whom?” His tone instantly sharpened.
This boy really needed to get his unreasonable possessiveness under control, she thought. Just because they’d slept together a few times—dozens of times—didn’t give him any right to pry into her life. Know your place, will you?
Then a mischievous idea struck her. Perfect for putting a lid on that jealousy. She smoothed her hair back from her face and made a show of looking troubled, hesitating as if debating whether to confess.
“Alright, I’ll tell you the truth, Bob.” She sighed. “I’m going to pick up my daughter from school.”
He froze completely. Yelena watched with delight as he went rigid, the sculpted lines of his torso more statue-like than ever.
“You… have a daughter?” It took him a long beat to choke that out.
Yelena bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, doing her best to maintain a calm, matter-of-fact expression.
“Yeah. It’s not that strange, is it? At my age?” He should’ve known—she was easily more than ten years older than him.
“You have a daughter?” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard it the first time.
“Yes. Now, I really have to go.” She stood and started pulling on her pants, satisfied that she’d put an end to his questions.
“What’s her name?” he asked from behind her.
Caught off guard, she blurted out the first name that popped into her head, “Fanny.”
“How… old is she?”
Yelena had no idea how to estimate a child’s age. She defaulted to her familiarity with puppies. “Three.”
“Three? And she’s already in school?” he asked, frowning.
She stalled. Three was plenty old for a puppy kindergarten, but human kids—?
“She can go to school. You wouldn’t understand.” She cut him off briskly.
Fully dressed, she stepped off the bed, ready to make her exit. But Bob suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, looking up at her.
“Can I come with you to pick her up?”
“What? Of course not!”
“Why not?” he pressed.
Yelena let out a long sigh. Her plan had seriously backfired. This made him even more tangled up in her business. She went for blunt honesty—at least about her fabricated story. “Fanny hates men.”
“You said I wasn’t a man, remember? Just a boy.”
God, he really held onto that one. Yelena had already paid dearly for that offhand comment. She tried to salvage it.
“Doesn’t matter. She hates all males.”
“So… does she hate her dad too?” he asked quietly, as if the words tasted foul on his tongue, like speaking them might make them real.
“Her dad?” It took Yelena a second to catch up. “Oh, that’s different.” She waved it off.
Bob was silent for a moment, still clutching her wrist. Then, in that same uneasy tone, he asked, “What’s he like?”
Yelena couldn’t come up with a prototype on the spot. “None of your business.”
“I’ve never seen you wear a ring,” he pointed out.
“That’s because we’re almost divorced.” She had to keep the lie going now.
Suddenly, Bob’s whole face seemed to brighten. “Divorced?”
“We’re separated—taking turns with Fanny. That’s why I have to be on time to pick her up. If I screw this up, I might lose custody once the divorce is final.” She was almost impressed by how effortlessly the lie rolled off her tongue. Clearly, the Red Room’s training hadn’t completely faded.
Bob was silent again, chewing on her words. She used the chance to pry his hand off, smoothing her hair in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
“Alright, really, I’ve got to go. Little girl waiting on me.”
“When do I get to meet her?” Bob asked.
Seriously? Yelena dropped her hands, turned, and gave the man a flat stare. “Never. Alright? Never.”
“I’ll figure out how to make her like me.”
“Like you? Why would she—” Yelena felt a pulse of irritation. “Bob, we’ve been over this.” She took a deep breath and leveled her voice. “Whatever’s between us stays in this bedroom. Outside of it, you don’t know me, you’re not part of my life. Got it?”
The sun had fully set, plunging Bob’s face into shadow, unreadable.
“Got it,” he said quietly.
*
Yelena knew perfectly well that getting tangled up with Bob was a colossal mistake.
It started because she’d lost her head, turned into madness for both of them somewhere in the middle, and by now—well, she had no idea how it was supposed to end.
The whole mess had begun with a perfectly ordinary trip to a nightclub. She’d just wrapped up a meaningless assignment, feeling exhausted, hollow, and craving, as usual, a one-night stand to keep her from lying awake pondering her equally meaningless life.
She’d fixed her hair, painted on heavy smoky eyes, and slipped effortlessly into the pulsing crowd on the dance floor. Several guys tried to chat her up, but each one only made her stomach turn. She decided to catch her breath at the bar and have a drink.
The bass was deafening, each beat rattling through her bones. She pushed her way through the crush of bodies, crossing the dance floor—then suddenly a harsh flash of neon cut across her vision. On instinct, she lifted her head and locked eyes with someone standing against the far wall.
There couldn’t have been a person more out of place in a club. A tall, young man with a mop of curly hair, wearing a dark blue hoodie and ochre pants. He was staring at her—flat-out staring—while the spinning lights painted his vivid blue eyes into dazzling marbles of shifting colors. Beautiful eyes, Yelena thought distantly.
They stared at each other across the throng. Time seemed to stall, the air itself pausing, the pounding music fading into silence. People drifted past like smudges of color, but all she could see were those bright, glittering eyes. What the hell was this? She told herself, I have to figure it out.
She walked straight toward him, and he didn’t budge, eyes glued to her the entire way.
“Here alone?” she asked abruptly.
He seemed to snap back to himself. “Uh… kind of,” he muttered, looking down at her.
Probably dragged here by friends and then got separated. Yelena shrugged and nodded toward the bar. “Drink?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly, almost eagerly.
They started drinking together for no good reason, started talking for no good reason, started kissing for no good reason—then left the club, grabbed a cab, stumbled into his apartment building, kissing down the hall, through the doorway, all the way to the bedroom. When Yelena finally came to her senses the next morning, she was sitting on an unfamiliar bed with nothing on.
This was Bob’s apartment. She looked around the bedroom, now a complete mess—its owner nowhere to be seen.
Good. It was the perfect chance to get dressed and slip out, avoiding an awkward goodbye. She was just trying to figure out which pile of clothes on the floor was hers when Bob suddenly pushed open the door, head poking in, hair a total wreck.
“You’re up?” he said, a little bashful. “I made breakfast.”
Yelena typically never stayed for breakfast. She had the professional instincts of an assassin—never eat food offered by strangers. But after an entire night of fooling around with an energetic young man, she was starving and exhausted. He didn’t look like the type to slip her poison. Just this once, she decided.
Truth be told, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d sat down to a proper breakfast. Now she was perched barefoot at his bright kitchen table, legs swinging (his chairs were too tall), drowning inside one of his oversized T-shirts (her own clothes were basically shredded), hands wrapped around a sandwich stuffed with fried egg and lettuce, cheeks bulging as she chewed. Beside her, a mug sent up fragrant steam. She picked it up and took a sip—the creamy foam and strong coffee sliding warm and smooth into her stomach, spreading heat through her entire body.
Across from her, he sat backlit by the sun, watching her without blinking, something golden and soft in his pupils. Tentatively, he asked, “How is it?”
She nodded. “It’s good.” And then, all at once, that same inexplicable impulse jumped up inside her again, fluttering and insistent. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I’m coming back for you next time. You mind?”
His whole face lit up in an instant, as if someone had flipped on a switch inside him.
“Not at all,” he said immediately.
…Alright. Just one breakfast was all it took for her to make such a reckless decision—and so she ended up with a regular hookup.
Every Friday night, Yelena would knock on Bob’s apartment door and spend all of Saturday tangled up with him, then all of Sunday too, until she finally left Monday morning. She had work to do; He had college classes to attend. It wasn’t a healthy relationship by any means—just an entertaining distraction in an otherwise tedious life.
Yelena made it clear to him, over and over, that it was best to keep whatever they had confined to this bedroom. She stuck to it too. She never gave Bob any way to reach her, never let slip her address or job. Sure, he knew her real name, but she was confident he couldn’t dig up anything about her online—that was one of her professional advantages. This way, they could maintain a simple, untainted arrangement of nothing more than sex.
Yet the more perfectly two bodies fit together, the more likely unnecessary feelings could arise. Over time, Yelena found it increasingly hard to ignore Bob’s growing infatuation with her, though she couldn’t fathom what exactly he was so infatuated with. He started wanting her to stay, wanting to take care of her, wanting to know everything about her, even wanting to be part of her life. She needed to take steps to quash these unrealistic ideas.
It wasn’t that Yelena hadn’t considered ending things outright. But—again, inexplicably—she didn’t really want to. Why? She turned that question over in her mind. Beyond being a perfectly satisfying bed partner, what exactly did Bob mean to her?
A little brother, maybe? With their age gap, that was the only thing that made sense. But then, she’d never had a little brother. Didn’t know what that was supposed to feel like. She’d always been the youngest, whether back in Ohio or later in the Red Room.
Was this how sisterly affection worked? She found herself caring about how he was doing at school, whether he had friends. She listened when he told her about his past, comforted him, and assured him it wasn’t his fault. If she discovered he’d been abusing morphine while she was away, she got angry. And once, when she saw the nearly healed, ragged scars on his wrist, her heart actually ached.
She’d had her own moments of complete despair. She knew exactly how seductive those dark thoughts could be. She couldn’t let Bob go down that same road. And Bob had promised her, “Ever since you showed up, I haven’t done anything like that again.”
“Really?” she whispered. His eyes were wet, and on an impulse, she bent down to press her lips gently against the scars on his wrist. She thought, maybe that would make him feel a little better. He always liked it when she kissed him.
Was this the sort of tenderness an older sister felt for her brother?
No, because sisters didn’t usually end up kissing their brother’s scars and then keep kissing down, down, until both of them were naked and rolling together in bed. That was pretty hard to categorize as familial love.
So… what then? If not a brother, was he like a pet?
Bob did sometimes give her the same sneaking, guilty feeling she got from secretly keeping a dog. Every time Yelena left Bob’s apartment to pick up Fanny from the puppy daycare, she’d take a long, thorough shower first. Fanny absolutely hated smelling Bob’s scent on her—she’d throw a tantrum every time. And Yelena felt a twinge of guilt for abandoning Fanny every weekend to fool around with Bob.
So was it like the affection between an owner and her pet? But that didn’t really fit. Bob and Fanny were far too different to draw a fair comparison. Fanny was always bright and straightforward, wearing her wants openly. If she wanted to play, she’d trot over with a frisbee, regardless of what Yelena was doing. If she wanted to sleep together, she’d just jump up on the bed and plop down beside her pillow, dirty paws be damned.
But Bob didn’t do that. He never said things outright. The clearest example was how he usually wouldn’t directly ask her to stay.
Instead, he’d come up with a hundred other reasons. “Looks like it’s raining outside.” “Do you have work tomorrow?” “We didn’t finish the wine in the fridge…”
Or sometimes he wouldn’t say anything at all, just lift those crystalline blue eyes and look at her, pitiful and fragile. Only when he was sure he had her heart snagged by that gaze would he finally whisper, “You’re leaving already?”
And what could she do? Stay a little longer, of course.
So no, this wasn’t like an owner’s fondness for her pet either. Pets usually didn’t tempt their owners so intensely.
What disturbed Yelena even more was how she’d started thinking of Bob in completely unrelated moments. After one mission, she’d taken a bullet graze to the abdomen and was sitting on the ground, pressing gauze to the raw, bloody wound. Her first reaction wasn’t pain—it was worry over what Bob would do if he saw it. He’d be upset for sure.
That thought startled even her. What did this have to do with Bob? Why was she afraid of him being upset?
Ava came over and flipped up her helmet. This mission was one they’d tackled together. Ava stood above her, looking down. “Are you okay?”
Yelena snapped out of it. “I’m fine. Just a scratch.”
Ava studied her for a moment, then abruptly pointed to her neck. “What’s that?”
“What?” Yelena caught the surprise in Ava’s eyes, twisted her head to check—and her stomach dropped. Damn it, must be a hickey from last night that hadn’t faded. Her brain went off like an explosion. She blurted, “Nothing. You’re seeing things. My dog bit me.”
“Oh? Really?” Ava raised an eyebrow, but luckily didn’t push. Instead, she tilted her head, voice turning serious. “Honestly, Yelena—are you okay?”
Yelena sat there on the ground, lifting her eyes to meet hers. Ava had definitely noticed something was off lately. And belatedly, Yelena realized that out of everyone she knew, Ava had always been the sharpest, the most dependable. Maybe Ava could give her some actual advice.
Should she ask?
I’ve been tangled up for way too long with a boy ten years younger than me, and now I’ve discovered I can’t let him go. Worse—I don’t even want to. So what exactly do I feel for him? What the hell am I supposed to do?
Just running through those thoughts in her head was absurd enough. “I’m fine,” Yelena finally said, forcing a flimsy smile.
*
It seemed she needed to make things clear to Bob again.
The next time they were tangled up in his bed, his mouth hot and greedy on the side of her neck, Yelena pushed him down.
“Stop, Bob. You can’t leave marks where they’re visible—”
Bob lifted his head, a flicker of light crossing his eyes. “Oh? Why—so your husband doesn’t find out?”
She had no idea where he got that eager, almost gleeful tone, as if expecting some sort of reward. She answered patiently, “Yes. So don’t cause me trouble.”
“What kind of trouble is that? You’re planning on divorcing anyway,” he said earnestly.
Absolutely not. That would just make him even more reckless. “I’m not getting a divorce anymore,” Yelena said offhandedly.
Immediately, his face darkened. Even the light hitting his features seemed to dull. The look on his face was so grim it sent a chill through Yelena’s chest. But he spoke evenly, calmly, drawing out each word.
“I see. So…I can only leave marks where they won’t be seen?”
“Yes,” Yelena said, only to realize a second later where he was now licking and biting. She instantly tangled her fingers in his hair, trying to pull him back up. “No—nowhere at all—!”
She’d been better off not mentioning it. Because once she did, he brought up this so-called “husband” at every opportunity. That was when Yelena discovered the truly nasty, hopelessly spiteful side lurking beneath Bob’s seemingly docile exterior.
“Does your husband know you’re here with me?” he’d murmur, coming up behind her, brushing his chin along her cheek.
“Has your husband ever done this to you?” he’d ask, lifting his head midway through licking, eyes wide and guileless.
“Has your husband ever been here, Ms Belova?”
Any other time she could deal with it—but he always chose the exact wrong moments to say things like that, refusing to continue until she answered. Finally, Yelena snapped, “Shut up!”
*
So much for her plan—making up a “husband” didn’t scare him off at all. At this point, all Yelena could do was try to downplay this imaginary husband’s existence, hoping it would stop Bob from spiraling deeper into madness.
Unfortunately, that plan exploded in the most irreversible way.
It was just an ordinary Wednesday afternoon without any assignments. John had dragged her along to help pick out a birthday present for his ex-wife. Yelena was diligent at first, seriously following him around and offering suggestions. But John’s indecisive dithering gradually wore her patience thin.
They were walking side by side down the street, John still rambling in her ear, when Yelena cut him off in an annoyed tone, “Face it—if you can’t even pick a damn gift, maybe you were never much of a husband—”
“I can pick one! I’m just not sure—”
Yelena abruptly lifted a hand and pressed it against John’s chest to silence him. He shut up immediately. She was staring straight ahead—because standing right there, blocking her path, was Bob.
Bob stood before her, expression blank, radiating a dark, cold aura. He had definitely heard her say not much of a husband.
Yelena suddenly realized how suggestive her hand on John’s chest looked. She snatched it back at once. John glanced at her, then at the man opposite them, puzzled. “What? You two know each other?”
Yelena quickly schooled her face into composure, blurting out, “Oh, this is Bob. He’s my…um, neighbor. Bob, this is John.” She didn’t dare meet Bob’s eyes properly.
John straightened up, casually offering Bob his hand. “Hey Bobby, what’s up?”
Bob ignored him entirely. He looked only at Yelena and said, “Are we still meeting Friday night?”
“Maybe,” Yelena said vaguely.
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
And with that, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked off without even glancing at John.
John’s hand hung awkwardly in the air. Even someone as oblivious as he couldn’t miss the blatant hostility radiating from that stranger. He raised his eyebrows, tilting his head to look at Yelena, an unspoken question clear in his eyes.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
Yelena scowled. “None of your business. Don’t ask.”
*
This was a complete disaster. That Friday, Yelena didn’t go to see Bob.
She knew he must have misunderstood everything, but she didn’t know how to face it.
She couldn’t simply go along with the lie and swallow her disgust by calling John her “husband.” But neither could she come clean and admit she’d made it all up. Because then he’d ask—Why did you lie to me?
Why?
Because deep down, she knew this relationship was a mistake. They should break up.
Married or not, it made no difference—they never should’ve gotten involved in the first place. They were from entirely different worlds. She was an assassin, a spy, a villain, who might die on some murky assignment tomorrow and leave nothing behind. And he was an ordinary young man who had never even held a gun, a college student with a bright future ahead of him, so hopelessly swept up in his first love that he couldn’t see straight. If she died, it would be too cruel for him.
Feelings were more dangerous than bullets. She’d already paid the price once. She never wanted to live through that again.
So end it.
The truth was, she’d always known how to end this—right from the start.
It was simple. She just had to stop seeing him.
He knew nothing real about her, and their lives didn’t overlap at all. As long as she never reached out again, he would never be able to find her. She could vanish from his world effortlessly.
But after making that decision, Yelena found herself lying awake night after night.
She couldn’t stop replaying the image of that cramped apartment, wondering what Bob was doing at this very moment.
He must be waiting for her—waiting from daylight into nightfall, then into daylight again. Her heart twisted up tight, bleeding painfully as if it had taken a bullet. But no, she told herself firmly, there was nothing she could do. This was something that had to happen.
At first, he would be confused, hurt, maybe even in agony. But with time, he would heal. It was inevitable. She was just a brief, insignificant chapter in the long story of his life. Eventually, he’d get back on track, spend time with people his own age, maybe even date girls his own age.
At the thought, a bitter taste rose in her throat, but she forced herself to continue.
Bob would be popular. He already had good looks, a good nature. She’d helped him kick the drugs, even taught him the basics of dealing with women. He’d make a wonderful boyfriend—someone else’s boyfriend.
Good, Yelena told herself. That solves everything.
She stared up at the dark ceiling, listening to Fanny’s gentle breathing beside her.
Then, out of nowhere, a thought ignited in her mind. It flared hotter and hotter, burning up every last bit of oxygen until she could barely breathe, her pulse choking in her throat.
It was her deepest fear—
What if Bob did something stupid?
No, she tried to reassure herself. She wasn’t that important to him. Not so important that he couldn’t live without her.
Besides, Bob had promised her he wouldn’t ever hurt himself again. And he would keep his promises.
Would he?
He would. He would…right?
*
A week passed. Then another. Yelena slipped right back into the state she’d been in before Bob—drifting through life, numb and indifferent.
She often found herself wanting to sneak back just to catch a glimpse of him, to make sure he was okay. But she was terrified of being seen. What if he’d already moved on? Wouldn’t she be tormenting herself for nothing?
She tried to pour more of her attention into Fanny. Fanny, at least, was happy—probably the only being who actually was happy in the chaos around them. She stuck to Yelena’s side like glue, doing her best to cheer her up. And now Yelena finally had more time for her, plus she no longer brought home that Bob-scent Fanny so obviously despised.
On Saturday, she took Fanny out for a walk along the river. There were hardly any pedestrians, so she let Fanny off the leash, watching her bound along joyfully.
They crossed a bridge, and suddenly Fanny seemed to catch a scent. With a sharp lunge, she bolted ahead. Yelena hurried after her down the steps, calling out, “Fanny, stop—you’re going to run right into someone—”
And of course, that’s exactly what happened.
Panting, Yelena looked up to apologize—and froze when she saw who was standing there at the top of the bridge.
Fanny was barking insistently at his feet. He didn’t even glance at her, just stared down.
It was Bob.
—or what was left of Bob.
He was so much thinner, hair a tangled mess, skin drained of all color. He looked like a ghost exposed to sunlight.
Yelena stood rooted to the spot. Guilt and a sharp ache surged through her, threatening to drown her.
Fanny fell silent, watching the two of them in utter stillness.
“Yelena,” Bob whispered. “So…you came.”
Yelena snapped out of it, hastily wiping at her eyes. Then she looked at where he was standing—and the flimsy railing right in front of him—and felt a bolt of dread. Her voice turned hard. “What are you doing up here?”
Fanny trotted over, gave a proud bark as if to announce her accomplishment. “Fanny, hush,” Yelena told her.
Bob didn’t answer, just let the faintest smile touch his lips. “So this is Fanny?” he asked, nodding at the American Akita.
Yelena’s conscience twisted painfully, but she refused to let him change the subject. “I asked what the hell you’re doing up here.”
Bob only tilted his head. “She’s Fanny. So who was that guy the other day?”
“You’re not seriously thinking of jumping, are you?” Yelena shot back, ignoring his question.
“Answer me first,” Bob insisted.
“He’s my colleague,” Yelena finally admitted, exhaling. “I don’t have a husband. I lied to you. I’m sorry.”
To her surprise, he actually laughed—a small, hoarse laugh. “So…I wasn’t the other man after all?”
“Is that really the point? What are you doing up here?” Her voice climbed with urgency.
“If you don’t have a family,” Bob said, his tone turning hollow, “then why did you abandon me?”
“I—” Yelena hesitated, then answered carefully. “I thought I’d said it enough times already. We were never supposed to be together.”
“Why not?” he asked evenly.
She realized she couldn’t dodge it any longer. Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “Because I’m a killer.”
Bob didn’t so much as blink. “Yeah, I figured. You nearly killed me.”
There was something dark and broken in his voice—just for a second, Yelena could almost see how he’d spent these past two weeks rotting alone in that apartment.
She steeled herself. “I’m not joking. I really am a killer.”
“I’m not stupid, Yelena,” Bob said calmly. “I tried looking you up. There’s nothing about you online. And your body’s covered in scars.”
That shut her up. She was still unaccustomed to someone knowing her body better than she did.
So she tried again, more bluntly. “I’m an assassin. You’re a college student. Tell me how that makes sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense about it?” he shot back.
“You should have a normal life. Date normal people—”
“I only want you,” he interrupted, utterly steady.
“You’d get dragged into things you can’t even imagine. Trouble so deep you couldn’t crawl out,” she warned.
“What could be worse than you abandoning me?”
“I didn’t abandon you,” she protested. “I just thought we should break up—like adults—”
“Why should we break up?”
And there they were, circling the same argument yet again. He was impossible. Talking to him was harder than talking to Fanny.
She gave up on convincing him. “So what exactly were you doing just now?”
“What, worried I might jump?” he said offhandedly.
“Of course I’m worried!”
“Why? You’re an assassin. You of all people should be used to death. Why does it matter if I die?”
Yelena froze. “…It’s different.”
“How am I different?”
A damn good question.
Yelena opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Bob kept his eyes locked on hers, searching, refusing to let her look away.
“Why do you care what happens to me?” he pressed, stubborn, almost defiant.
Yelena let out a long sigh. “Okay! Fine! I have feelings for you, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear? But I shouldn’t, which is why I ended it—”
Bob suddenly stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. Her head rested against his chest, and the familiar scent of him hit her all at once. Her throat tightened painfully. She dropped her face, unwilling to let him see the tears gathering in her eyes.
His arms came around her shoulders, holding her tight, and she felt his shirt grow damp where her face was pressed.
“I love you too, Yelena,” he said quietly, seriously.
She didn’t look up, her voice muffled by the fabric. “What do you even know about love? Don’t say it so easily.”
“Do you?” he shot back.
“…Fair. I don’t either,” she admitted honestly.
“Then let’s figure it out together,” Bob said. Then, almost pleading, he added, “Just…don’t leave me again.”
Yelena finally tilted her head up—and saw his eyes were just as wet as hers, that clear, brilliant blue brimming with tears. Eyes like that shouldn’t have to cry.
“…I won’t. Or—I’ll try not to.”
At last, she gave him her promise.
[END]
The link to the original Chinese version on LOFTER:
https://yinyuan4869.lofter.com/post/1d08fcc7_2beea20d8?incantation=rzHgXTvHR4ug