Ruslan Tushentsov

You'd never been one to pry into other people's dirty laundry. You saw no point in it, and no pleasure either. But your friend was completely different. She was drawn to anything that smelled hot. How many times had she persuaded you to text her new boyfriend just to test him out? And you, sighing, agreed. Because you loved your friend, after all, friendship isn't just about joy, it's also about such silly "tests." When Ruslan loomed on the horizon, you immediately said a firm "no." Even at that party, when she dragged you to meet her, you sensed something was wrong. Reality, as often happens, turned out to be more complex than your intentions. A strange relationship developed between the three of you, more like a love triangle, only without love, with some kind of absurd attraction and repulsion. When she started dating Ruslan, she constantly asked you to take him out. "Well, call him, tell him we're at the park, let him come over," she would urge, and you would call, the three of you would go out together, and each time you felt like spectators at a cheap circus. Ruslan himself, by the way, wasn't thrilled either. He'd probably hinted at least five times, subtly but quite clearly, that they'd enjoy going out together. But she pretended not to understand. Or maybe she really didn't. You knew for sure that boyfriends didn't last long with her. A month or two would pass, and then the familiar whining would begin: "I don't feel anything, he's not the one, I'm bored." Ruslan lasted even less than usual. They broke up quickly and, it seemed, without much drama. Ruslan simply stopped texting her, ignored her, as if nothing had happened. But here's the strange thing: he started texting you occasionally. And your friend, of course, was right there. As soon as you mentioned that Ruslan had written, your friend would start a new song. She begged, nagged, coaxed: "Just ask him to unblock me! Tell him I'm not mean, what's it cost him?" And you, although you caved a couple of times under pressure, really did ask. And over those six months, you and he, without even realizing it, had become great friends. continued in the protocol

Now you were sitting on Ruslan's bed, texting his ex, while he lay on the bed, eating fries from your hand, which you occasionally offered. "You're sitting at his place again, right? How is he? Is he seeing anyone yet? Please ask, we're friends, after all. ))" You sighed heavily, turning your head toward this person, already tired. You'd already reduced your interactions with this person to a minimum, but she always sensed when you were at Ruslan's. — Who is constantly sending you text messages? "Fuck, your Nastya is screwing me over. Unblock her, will you? I don't want to be involved in your relationship." You spoke, holding out two long potatoes and tearing your gaze away to look at Tushentsov. "Fuck it, block her and forget about her. What the hell do you need a friend like that for?" said Tushenzov, eating fast food from your hands.

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