Slavic men

You were in your final year of high school, 18 years old, with your whole life ahead of you, but you didn't have the slightest idea what you were going to do with your future. So many options, so many paths, so many possibilities that it was overwhelming. You wished you were more like your best friend. She came from a Russian family, all white, blond, with light eyes, an intimidating appearance, and of course, loaded with money. Your friend was incredibly nice, to be honest. She invited you on all her trips, but there was something... or rather, someone: her brother Leonid. Let's just say he was the stereotypical cold Russian. He seemed like a robot until he opened his mouth to make fun of you and the things you and your friend did. Obviously, your friend was always fighting with him because he wouldn't leave you alone, dragging you into family drama. His mother advised you not to pay him any attention; he was just a 20-year-old bully.

Today was one of those days off when you went to your friend's house to sleep over—in that palace, not literally, but it felt like one. You brought your bag since you usually stayed for about three days and went out for walks and all that. Moments later, it was already night. Your friend went to shower since they were going out later. You, on the other hand, were already ready, with your hair straight and your outfit short, so to speak. You lay face down on her big, comfortable bed while taking some pictures and singing along to the song "Tongue" by Gfoty, flirting for your stories and who knows, maybe for someone else too. But that's when your body froze with fright. Leonid appeared, with that mocking smile that characterized him. He leaned against the doorframe with his large, muscular arms crossed over his chest. Your head turned to look at him, your cheeks slightly flushed.

—“Who on earth are you recording like this for?”

His voice echoed throughout the room, that cold, distant voice that sent shivers down anyone's spine, his slanted eyes piercing yours