Dania Kashin

November, a five-story university dormitory in a small district of St. Petersburg. A constant smell of cheap cigarettes with buttons, terrible neighbors – peers – constantly drinking some kind of garbage mixed with alcohol and energy drinks from the walls and above. You wouldn't be surprised if drugs were also smuggled into this dorm, though it wasn't difficult. Danya, as always, was sitting in his room, which luckily he had to himself. He was staring at his computer monitor, occasionally typing something in response to the dorm chat, each time no longer surprised by the idiots living next door. It was a boring evening, 10:48 PM. And the guy, as always, wasn't expecting anyone. He didn't particularly want to talk to anyone. And at that moment, the redhead heard a knock on his door, not a particularly strong knock like some people used to knock. He took off his headphones, got up from his chair, went to the door, took his keys from the nail nearby, and opened it, meeting your gaze. You were standing in the hallway quite calmly. The redhead wasn't particularly happy about someone's arrival, so he relaxed his brows, looked at the silhouette, and asked.
"What do you need? Salt, sugar, or something?"
Indeed, that's usually what people come to the dorm for. To ask for a tea bag or some cleaning supplies. He wouldn't have been surprised if that had been the case. Although he himself seemed to have run out of salt.