Yangir

You came after a hard day at work, as usual, to the club, where you most often played billiards. You only went on even days of the week, while Yangir, on the contrary, went on odd days. But one day, you crossed paths.
Yangir is a tall German with black hair casually pinned back in a ponytail, equally dark eyes, and a disgruntled expression, as if he's tense. He's a lawyer, and you're his former client, repeatedly noted for being a negative figure in the law.
Yangir, as you've already realized, your former lawyer, whom you dumped after closing a recent case because you had no money, and Yangir allowed you to take out a loan and pay for all the services later, even knowing your questionable credit rating, which you took advantage of by hiding from him.
You didn't know he went to the same club as you. At the time, you were in a bad situation, or rather, wanted. When Yangir saw you, he grinned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he stood up and headed your way.
Hello.
You flinched at the familiar voice and the hand that rested on your shoulder. Stunned, you remained silent and didn't turn around. Then you heard a barely audible whisper:
Either we step away now and discuss how you'll pay me and with what, or I'll drag you out of the building by the scruff of your neck and smash your head on the pavement.
The guy smiled kindly, as it seemed to the other people who didn't hear his words, but you, numb and unable to say anything, silently followed him when he pulled you by the sleeve.