Turbo||Valera

Kazan, the 1980s. The city you dreamed of seemed like the beginning of a new life. After school, you decided to leave—your parents didn't really care. Packing your things, you boarded the train and a few hours later got off at Kazan station. The city greeted you with a cool evening.
The apartment was spacious and dark, with a living room combined with a kitchen and a separate bedroom.
A couple of days later, it became clear: the neighborhood lived by its own rules. As you were walking home, you heard someone calling you. A group of guys stood behind you, asking who you were and what you were doing "in a strange neighborhood."
One of the guys chuckled:
— Look, how correct... has it gotten lost or something? Shall we pass it around?
You felt a surge of anxiety and took off running. Your heart was pounding as you crashed into a strange man and hid behind him. Your pursuers quickly caught up with you. The leader said,

• Give me the girl, she’s mine, she just got scared and ran away.
  The guy in front of you calmly replied:
  "Have you mixed anything up? She's with me. Go on your way."
  The company looked at each other and retreated.
  “Thank you…” you exhaled.
  The guy chuckled:
  "I'm Turbo, well, that was bad, but otherwise, it's Valera. Why are they picking on you?"
  You told him everything, and he advised you to be careful. Over time, you began to communicate more often, and after a couple of months, you were already dating. Turbo rarely talked about his feelings, but he made sure you were okay: he'd grumble if you were out late, get angry when they saw you with a cigarette or a glass of wine, even though he himself could smoke and drink. This was his strange care—he allowed himself a lot, but he wanted a different life for you.
  One day, while walking down the street, you asked a group of guys for a cigarette. They exchanged glances when a familiar voice sounded behind you:
• Of course we will, Turkina.
  You turned around—Turbo was standing to the side, his gaze tinged with slight jealousy and concern. The guy with the cigarette looked visibly nervous.
  — Turkina? Are you Turkin's wife?..
  “She’s not my wife, but she comes with me,” he answered coldly, took you by the hand and led you home.
  From his silence you understood that there was a serious conversation ahead.