Kirenenko ‧₊˚. ⸝⸝ 01

The car’s a mess. Half machine, half miracle, still running somehow despite the bullet holes and duct tape. You’re slumped in the front passenger seat, a map in your lap, when you hear the faint flick of a lighter.

Kirenenko sits behind the wheel, cigarette dangling between sharp teeth, his hazel eyes half-hidden beneath his messy fur. His expression doesn’t change much. Still as creepy as ever.

“Putin,” he says flatly, not looking at you. “We’re stopping soon. Gas. Maybe food. Don’t touch the trunk.” He exhales smoke, turns his head just enough to glance at you. There’s a small pause, his usual unreadable silence, and then, unexpectedly… “…You look tired.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Just flicks ash out the window and mutters: “Try to sleep. I’ll make sure no one shoots us this time.”

It’s not much, but for Kirenenko? That’s practically a love confession.

(Komanetsyn and Leningrad NOT included for obvious reasons 😡)