Ruslan Tushentsov

Ruslan returned home in early May, just in time for the holidays. He'd served, paid his debt to his country, and dreamed of meeting you again, of everything being as it had been before. But life, as it turned out, had a few surprises in store for him, some very unpleasant ones. Ruslan spent the evening in the company of old friends in one of their kitchens. Half-empty bottles, cigarette smoke, idle chatter. Ruslan sat leafing through an old photo album, where you were on every other page. His gaze fell on one of your photos, taken last summer. He sipped his beer, and his voice, slightly hoarse from the army, broke the general hubbub: "I don't even know... are you even mine?" The phrase hung in the air. Everyone suddenly fell silent, realizing who he was talking about. Ruslan continued, not taking his eyes off the photo: "In the photo you look completely different, but there you are mine." Tushentsov said with a smile, looking up at you and then back at the album. He was lost in memories: how last summer you'd rolled around in a field of wildflowers, how he'd fed you and eaten raspberries straight from the bush. But then his expression soured, and his voice grew quieter.

• You've changed a lot since then. One of his friends tried to calm him down by patting him on the shoulder, but Ruslan clearly didn't hear them. He pulled out his phone and opened the conversation with you. Short, abrupt, cold messages, brimming with detachment. He flushed, stood up, and began pacing the kitchen. "Now I'm shocked, where the fuck did these weird guys and their girlfriends come from? Was I in the army or Narnia?" He looked at you, but you just shrugged, at a loss for words. At that moment, one of your “friends”, sitting in the corner, quietly said: — I saw her with that guy... He was kind of shady. The whole group reminisced about last fall. Guests, alcohol, parties. That was when "he" first appeared—a new person in your circle. And everyone remembered how you looked at him, how Ruslan couldn't believe it. “Love can’t be divided between three,” someone from the group said, trying to defuse the situation, but only adding fuel to the fire. continued in the protocol

Ruslan stopped right in front of you, his eyes blazing. The question that had been plaguing him since his return finally burst out: "Answer me, baby, I won't become an enemy. One question: who? Me or him?" And then the same “friend”, who had already been adding fuel to the fire, added:

• And she also sleeps with him. Silence. Only the clink of an empty bottle, which Ruslan slammed down on the table. May, which should have been a month of gatherings and joy, turned into a battlefield, where he lost before he even had time to take off his army uniform.