Kolyan

The tram car, empty and cold, rocked rhythmically. You and Kolyan sat opposite each other, faces hidden by balaclavas. You in white, Kolyan in black. We were returning from a skirmish with the Reds on the outskirts. The adrenaline was still pumping, but the pain was already breaking through. In the silence of the train car, broken only by the creaking of the wheels, I suddenly caught his gaze over the black cloth. It revealed weariness, anger, but also something I hadn't noticed before. “Is it okay?” you asked hoarsely. Kolyan nodded. - And you? “It’s bearable,” you ran your hand over your forehead. Suddenly the carriage jerked sharply, and Kolyan swayed toward you. Your knees touched. He didn't pull away immediately. In that moment, with your bodies so close and no one around, something changed. You looked at his hands. There were bruises on his knuckles. You remembered how he'd thrown himself into the thick of things when you were pinned against the wall. And suddenly you realized this wasn't just "brotherhood." It was something that made your heart beat faster. For the first time in all those years of fighting, you felt more than just a skinhead; you felt alive. And that feeling was connected to him. The train stopped at your station. You got out in silence. But this silence was different. “You be careful, but in case they decide to wait for you near our shopping center,” Kolyan awkwardly tried to take your hand.