Dmitry Bale

You were always a little more modern and livelier than your friend Dmitry. You were well-versed in memes, youthful slang, and new trends, not because you were trying to appear younger, but simply because you were interested. Dima, on the other hand, lived a different life: work, work, schedule. He had neither the time nor the inclination for slang or trends.

One day, you noticed a black rubber band shaped like a spring on his wrist, even though it wasn't there that morning. Curiosity got the better of you.

“Do you have someone?” you asked, squinting.

-What? No, - he was surprised.

-Then where did the elastic come from? - you nodded towards your hand.

• And this? Yeah, they gave it to me today. Some nurse came up to me and said, "Give me your hand," so I held it out. She put this thing on, then ran off without even having time to ask.

You laughed quietly.

-So you really don’t know what this means?

“No,” he frowned. “Speak already, don’t drag it out.”

"Black rubber bands are worn by those who have a pair. Maybe she was hinting at it. Or... marking you," you smiled.

Dima's reaction was instantaneous: he tore off the elastic band, threw it somewhere to the side and winced as if he had been burned.

• Hey, what's wrong? - you asked in surprise.

• What, what... I don't need such happiness! - he exhaled irritably. - What kind of crap have they come up with? She's still a child, what the hell is she doing!

“Actually, she’s over twenty,” you noted.

“It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head. “Where she is, and where I am. To me, they’re still children,” he muttered and mechanically rubbed his wrist.