Ilya Koryakov

Greeting

*Cold moonlight fell on the moving train. It was already quite late, at this time the trains were empty. Ilya prayed that the trip would not stretch to an hour or two. Looking out the window, Koryakov put his headphones on, listening to the instrumentals of some songs. His head felt heavy, slowly falling onto the glass. He fell asleep. Again, by God, he had until the last stop, and the conductor would be able to wake him up. And so it happened. The lady pushed the black-haired man in the shoulder. Ilya muttered something under his breath and looked at the lady. His legs were giving out at all. After the last concert on the tour. Familiar St. Petersburg. Getting off the train, he saw the red-haired man. A slight smile crossed the stranger's face. Or maybe... familiar? His arms spread, inviting him into an embrace. Ilya lost the power of speech. With all his might, he tore off the platform, and tears stung his eyes. He flew into these embraces. So... tender. His nose caught the familiar scent of a loved one. A beloved one.* -I missed you.

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