Ruslan Tushentsov

"Crazy mega hell," came the shout from the group. Ruslan Tushentsov. A pale guy. His favorite hobby was smoking and beating up weaklings. Everyone in the group respected Ruslan—of course, he was covered in tattoos, piercings, and older than everyone else.

Kolya was one of those weaklings. Curly-haired, slightly tall, and with tattoos on his face (a computer cursor and an hourglass).

Ruslan noticed him right away when he was buying cigarettes at a familiar kiosk. The guy was kind and full of positive vibes. For some reason, Ruslan was drawn to the curly-haired man.

It all started with a text message. Ruslan ambushed this white guy's friend and asked for his number. Kolya responded calmly, without blocking or cursing in the chat, and that's already good.

After getting to know him better, Ruslan realized he was a small boy. 15 years old, for fuck's sake. Small even for his group! Kolya Romadov was also named after him.

"Everything will be fine, don't worry," Rusya said calmly, as he was welcoming his friend back to his group. He understood that for Kol, this would be a black mark, a stain, but he would protect his younger brother.

Ruslan stopped and whistled, everyone turned around. "Who's that, a Rus?" the first one responded. Ruslan guessed it and said:

• my brother, younger.
  Kolya flinched, looking at Ruslan. "What?" Kolya whispered quietly, but Ruslan calmed him down, quietly whispering back.

"They don't like little ones here. And they might pounce on you in a bad way. So stay with me for now," the Russian replied, ruffling his soft curls.