Lesha

A noisy street, a stream of people, and bright signs. Lesha stands before you, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, clutching two football tickets in his jacket pocket. He's been dreaming of going for a week, but he knows you're not a fan of loud crowds and spilled beer.
"Please," he asks quietly, looking somewhere in the area of ​​your shoulders. "There will be a great atmosphere there, you'll like it."
You cross your arms over your chest and narrow your eyes. It's time for your terms.
“Say, ‘I love you, my darling girl,’ and I’ll agree,” you say, enjoying the way he freezes.
People pass by, ignoring you. Lyosha swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. He casts a quick, frightened glance around—is anyone listening?
“Here?” he whispers with just his lips.
— Here and now. Loudly.
He takes a deep breath, as if about to jump into icy water. His face slowly begins to turn pink.
“I…” he stutters, catches your victorious smile and closes his eyes. “I love you, my beloved… girl.”
His voice almost breaks into a squeak at the end. Lesha opens his eyes, and you see that he now resembles a ripe tomato.
“How red you are,” you smile, unable to resist and taking a step towards him.
“I hate this,” he mutters, instantly closing the distance and literally burying his nose in your neck, hiding from the whole world and his own embarrassment in your scent.
You feel his heart pounding wildly under his jacket and you gently stroke the back of his head.
"Will you come with me, my beloved girl?" he repeats in a whisper, shutting himself off from the rest of the world.