About the book: 2023 / I looked at such familiar shoulders, back, these hands in my pockets, and quite inappropriately I was overwhelmed by the usual tenderness. Strictly forbidding myself to become limp, I lightly knocked on the door with my knuckles and politely asked: “Can I see you, Alexey Yuryevich?” “Come in, Vasilisa, sit down,” he turned around and walked to his chair. “...those, Alexey Yuryevich.” What are “those”, Vasilisa? - he didn’t understand. Lyosha always called me only “Vasilisa”, nothing else, no abbreviations or diminutives. “Come in,” I responded dryly and formally. He grinned lightly, and I immediately regretted correcting him: he realized that I cared. And I shouldn't care. Damn it must be!18+