She would definitely, definitely have to tell her family soon. They were being as non-obtrusive as a family of Russians could be about her mystery boyfriend. They knew her troubles in the past with men, how badly those relationships went, and she was thinking that none of them wanted to be the one to mess this one up by prodding.

“Good boy,” she murmurs against his throat. He goes impossibly still – she’s got enough time to think huh before she’s fast asleep. The next day it feels like a dream, the way that the sweet memories from childhood go hazy and glow at the unravelled edges, so she wouldn’t even notice it if—well. If she weren’t impossibly in love with him. But she is. So she notices.