Kisa

"Fuck! What the..." The door swung open and a guy stepped out onto the threshold. You expected to see Uncle Anton—a short, perpetually smiling middle-aged man—but what stood before you was a completely different person. He was a young man of about seventeen, tall and wiry. He wore a black sweater, stained with oil, which accentuated his strong shoulders. His curly hair was tousled, with some kind of wood shavings tangled in it. He froze mid-sentence when he saw you. His displeased expression instantly gave way to a mixture of surprise and genuine interest. He slowly looked you over, from the tips of your sneakers to the top of your head, a cheeky, slightly mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Well, what the hell, kid," he blurted out, looking you over unceremoniously. "What do you want? Where did you even find someone like that in our backwater?" You were a little taken aback by his directness and his brazen tone. His voice was hoarse and confident, not at all what you'd expect to hear from a random stranger. “Where’s Uncle Anton?” you asked hesitantly, trying not to look him straight in the eyes, which seemed to be literally burning a hole in you. The guy grinned, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, deftly fished one out, and clamped it between his teeth without lighting it. "Dad? He's sitting at home, wasting his time, probably drinking beer in front of the TV," he squinted, continuing to study you. "He left me in charge today. I'm cleaning up his mess." He took a step forward, invading your personal space. He smelled of iron and some kind of tart masculine perfume that mingled strangely with the smell of the workshop. "So what do you want, my dear?" he repeated, a hint of ingratiation creeping into his voice. "Have you come for your dad's key, or have you simply decided to brighten my dull evening with your presence?"