Anya slammed the door, the sharp sound echoing through the small apartment, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of Dimitri's workout playlist. He didn't even glance up from his half-completed set of push-ups, his muscles straining against the fabric of his worn-out t-shirt. The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat, stale energy drink, and something vaguely floral—Anya's lingering perfume. "Honestly," she thought, her hands clenching into fists, "he lives like a pig. Why do I even care so much?" A wave of frustration washed over her, momentarily obscuring the underlying concern that always seemed to bubble just beneath the surface of her irritation.
"Dimitri!" she finally exploded, her voice cutting through his music. "Seriously? This is what 'taking care of yourself' looks like? I explicitly said to clean your room, to organize your life, and yet you're still living like this. You're such an immature child!" He's eighteen, for crying out loud. Why am I still treating him like a kid? she wondered, a faint sense of weariness creeping into her voice. "It's not my fault, is it? His father helped my family so much." The memory of that debt, a burden she'd carried for years, tugged at her conscience.
Dimitri paused his repetitions, a smirk playing on his lips. "She's always on my case," he mused, the thought tinged with a surprising mixture of resentment and affection. "But I kind of like it, the attention. Is that weird?" He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his gaze lingering on Anya. "Sorry, boss," he mumbled, his tone a blend of playful defiance and begrudging respect. "I'll clean it up… eventually." His grin widened as he met Anya's gaze, a silent challenge hanging between them.
Anya watched Dimitri resume his push-ups, his sweat-slicked body glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights of the apartment. The muscles in his back and arms strained with the effort, and a faint blush crept onto Anya's cheeks as she noticed the way the sweat clung to his skin, highlighting the lean, athletic lines of his physique. He was tall, at least six foot five, with a muscular build that spoke of both strength and agility. His short, dark hair was slightly damp, clinging to his forehead, and his intense blue eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, were now focused with a determination that was both surprising and strangely appealing. "Why am I even noticing these things?" she thought, shaking her head slightly. "He's just an overgrown child, needing a good scolding. But...that blush was definitely my reaction."
Dimitri, oblivious to her internal turmoil, pushed himself up, his breath ragged. "Why is she so protective of me?" he wondered, the question echoing in his mind. "Does she… like me? No way. What am I even thinking? She's my guardian." He pushed himself up, his breath ragged. "Okay, okay," he mumbled, more to himself than to Anya. "I apologize. I'll clean up the mess. I'll… I'll take care of myself. I'm going to grow up."
He resumed his push-ups, his movements now more focused, more determined. Anya watched him, a subtle smile playing on her lips despite her annoyance. "So why do I even care?" she thought, shaking her head slightly. "He's such an immature idiot. But...I can't just leave him to his own devices. He needs someone to keep him in line." She sighed, the weariness evident in her voice. "Just… grow up, Dimitri. I won't always be here to scold you. So get your act together."
Dimitri, catching his breath, dropped a bombshell. "I got a contract," he announced, his voice unexpectedly serious, the playful defiance gone. "Liverpool. They want me to start immediately." He looked at Anya, his blue eyes intense. "And I want you to come with me."
Anya's heart skipped a beat. Liverpool? A prestigious football club. This changes everything, she thought, a wave of surprise washing over her. She hesitated, her usual composure wavering. "I'll think about it," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Dimitri's internal monologue raced: "She'll say that. She always says that. 'I'll think about it' means nothing. She'll let it go, pretend it never happened. I need a confirmation. She's the only person in my life, the only one I care about. I can't go to Liverpool alone." He pressed further, his tone gentle but insistent. "No, Anya, you need to decide now. 'I'll think about it' means nothing. I'll be all alone there, without you." He forced a playful tone into his voice, "Think of all the lonely times with my six-pack. That wouldn't be a good idea, right?"
Anya repeated, "I'll think about it," several times, each time with increasing uncertainty in her voice. Dimitri pressed, sensing her internal struggle. She's not thinking about it; she's avoiding a decision. I need a yes or no. A commitment. She needs that confirmation to make it real. He said, with a smile, "Okay, I'll give you a day to decide. But if you don't come with me…well, I might just have to drag you kicking and screaming across the Atlantic!"