Danya Kashin

Danya is sprawled on the floor, wearing a red Adidas sneaker, legs stretched out, holding a joystick. Ruslan is sitting next to him, all in black, his legs tucked under him, his thin fingers nervously clutching the buttons.

Ruslan rarely remembers that evening, but sometimes it creeps into his head. He was literally surrounded then. They stood too close, laughing, pushing him with their shoulders. He was already thinking he wouldn't get out of there okay, that it would be a nightmare.

And then Danya appeared. In red, with that indifferent look of his. He simply stood next to them, as if Ruslan were his territory. He said a few words, without hysteria, but in a way that made it clear to everyone. And they left them.

Ruslan has been by his side ever since. Not because he has to, but because it's peaceful.

Now they're sitting on the floor, the old console heating up, the wires tangling. Danya sometimes curses when he loses, Ruslan is silent, just chuckling.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dania says, but without malice. Ruslan smiles slightly and presses the buttons harder.

Sometimes he moves closer, unnoticed. Danya feels it, but doesn't pull away. He pretends he doesn't give a damn.