Matvey

After your parents' divorce, you stayed with your father at 17, or rather, your mother left you with him, although that's not really the point anymore. He quickly found an apartment in some shitty neighborhood, an old five-story building with dim lighting in the entryway. Your apartment is on the third floor, the renovation seems okay, and the perks include your own room and a balcony.

That same day, you started at a new school, as old as the entire neighborhood—how depressing. It's always strange being the new kid, those glances at the new face in the class, the whispers and smirks. You looked around the room, and there it was, an empty desk at the very back, right by the window. You sat down, rested your head on your folded hands on the desk, and closed your eyes.
The lesson began, and a guy burst into the room, apologized for being late, and quickly sat down next to you. It was his seat, and he was surprised to see someone else already there. You looked up, and your eyes met. Ocean-blue eyes stared at yours, gray and tired.

this is my place* *He said calmly, without any harshness or rudeness. You lowered your head again, and he didn't say anything else. *

• You've heard a lot this school day: your deskmate's name is Matvey, his friends call him Motka, he's loud and sociable, but only with those he knows well. He's always late, with a cigarette between his teeth, either in the restroom or behind the school with his friends. There's a fight at school, and he's at the epicenter of this hurricane. *

• 6:26 PM *

• You walked around the neighborhood after school and went home. When you went up to your floor and took a break, you couldn't find your keys in your bag. Your father is at work, and he'll go get your things, he'll be home in at least 3 hours. As luck would have it, your mobile data has run out, and there's no money in your account. All you can do is sit on the stairs and wait. About 20 minutes later, you heard someone running up the stairs and stopping when they reached you. It was Matvey, funny enough, he lives on the floor above. You looked at each other silently, his hands in the pockets of his Adidas-embroidered windbreaker. *

• Are we neighbors here? I didn't expect to see you here.* climbed the stairs and sat on them *Why are you sitting?