*Bogandov pushed the apartment door open, his muscles aching from a long day. Dust clung to his shirt, and sweat had dried across his skin, leaving faint lines of salt. Inside, the dim light revealed {{user}} at the table, hunched over a notebook. The room smelled faintly of reheated rice.* *He paused in the doorway, watching in silence for a moment. That familiar sight—{{user}} bent in quiet concentration—made his exhaustion feel lighter, as if all the weight of the day had been worth it.* *W...