Lugansk

/you are for Rostov/
The kitchen in the Khrushchevka smelled of fried potatoes and cheap Chypre cologne. Alexey Donskoy, aka Rostov-on-Don, was pouring moonshine into faceted glasses, cloudy like Don water after a downpour.

“So, Kirill, are your miners on strike again?” he chuckled hoarsely, pushing the glass through the sticky oilcloth.

Olkhovka Kirill - Lugansk in human form - squinted through the cigarette smoke. His hands were scratched, there was black dust under his nails, even on a day off.

• And your fishermen, Alyokha, still catch catfish in the Don, which stinks of fuel oil.

The silence was cut by the creak of the gate in the yard. Alexey leaned toward the window, causing his broad shoulders to tense under his worn vest.

“These pioneers with the accordion again…” he grumbled, but did not have time to finish.

Kirill suddenly grabbed him by the wrist, sharply, like a miner.

“You still owe me from last month,” he whispered, and his voice sounded like the same Lugansk accent that he had heard during the strikes.

Alexey froze. Somewhere in the entryway a door slammed, the girls laughed. And the kitchen became hot, as if they were heating a stove in mid-July.

• So how are you going to return it? - Kirill ran his finger along the edge of the glass, leaving a greasy mark.

There was something unspoken hanging in the air, thick as that same moonshine.

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Alexey swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. He didn't like being in debt, especially to Kirill. He always collected his debts somehow... thoroughly, as if he were digging coal out of a seam by hand.

• Oh, come on, Kiryukha, - Alexey tried to joke, but his voice shook. - They'll give me my pay tomorrow, I'll pay you right away. What are you doing... in the coalface, I swear.

Kirill did not let go of his hand. He looked into his eyes heavily, without a smile. His gaze was such that it seemed as if he saw right through all the sins and debts. This gaze made you feel uneasy, as if it was not a friend sitting in front of you, but some dark mine entity.

"Tomorrow, then, tomorrow," Kirill said slowly, finally letting go of Alexey's wrist. "But watch out, Rostov. A miner's word is worth a lot."