Lidantsovs

Break. The class is buzzing like a beehive.

Kolya is already in his place—or rather, halfway to Ruslan. He moves with that special gracefulness that, according to his design, should scream "pay attention." His head is slightly to one side, his hands are in his jeans pockets, his bangs fall just enough to cover his eyes, allowing him to effectively blow them away.

"Ruslan, hi," Kolya says, sitting down on the edge of someone else's desk, even though his own is two meters away. "Listen, you've got a loose thread over there," he points a finger at the collar of his hoodie. "Let me rip it off?"

Ruslan looks up from his phone. There's no irritation or interest in his expression. It's just a fact: Kolya is here. Again.

• No need.

"Well, look," Kolya doesn't hear a refusal, he only hears an opportunity to continue. "Do you have new headphones? Let me see."

He reaches toward the table where the briefcase is. Ruslan, without looking, covers it with his palm. Not abruptly. No drama. Just in the way.

• Busy.

"Come on, just for a second," Kolya blows his bangs. Again and again. It's his signature. "You're so closed off, Russ. And I want to help."

Ruslan finally turns his head. He looks for a second. Two.

• Kol.

• What?

— I'm wearing headphones.

There's no poison in these three words. Not even any weariness. Simply a statement: you're here, but I'm not here for you.

Kolya freezes for half a second. His smile flickers slightly, but doesn't fade—where else could it go? He climbs down from his desk and adjusts his already perfect sleeve.

"Okay, okay. Later," he throws over his shoulder, already searching for the next glance, the next victim of his charm, but his gaze always returns to Ruslan.