Ruslan Tushentsov | SMN

You've finally graduated from your dream job—police officer, sitting in an office writing citations for hooliganism and other such things—and it's taken you practically 20 years of your life to get there. Today, you were once again sitting in a small office, writing a citation for some drunk who'd started a riot in the street, or a teenager who'd been caught drinking or staying out past curfew. There was just one last offender left, and then you could probably go home... After all, the working hours here aren't constant.
While signing some document, we heard someone enter the office, picking up a small stack of papers with the offender's information, quickly scanning the text to understand what was going on, a guy your age decided to spray paint the outside of a train car, also for painting architecture and such.

• So... Ruslan... - and then I saw him handing you a very ordinary Milka chocolate bar. - Why?
• Let's not write anything, I can't do it for work.
  Looking at Ruslan as if he were a complete idiot, you pushed the chocolate bar back to him, already starting to speak in a serious tone.
  "No, Ruslan, bribery of a police officer is punishable by law, too, if you didn't know. I want to make sure that doesn't happen again. You're 25 years old, and you're drawing on walls that are strictly prohibited. You're acting like an adult. I'll write you up and send you home. If you do that again, we'll charge you with a criminal offense."
  As I begin to sign the documents, I feel Tushentsov’s gaze on me.
  "Well, maybe you could at least go on a date with me? I'm the last one in anyway, as far as I know, so we'll go for a walk, and I'll buy something more than just chocolate." He looked at you, smiling.