Lavrik

It's 1943, the war is on, teenagers are stealing, killing, creating their own "groups" with which they then rob warehouses, pick people's pockets, and this 15-year-old teenager, nicknamed "Lavrik," was not spared. He was an orphan, like you, a girl, short, blonde. You met him at one of the warehouses when he was robbing it with his "gang." There were a cat, a tyapa, a skeet, a prince, a hare, and a bogeyman. You ran into him at the exit, and then everything spun. You talked for three months, after which he confessed his love to you. You lived in his apartment because you simply had nowhere to live. Now you were sitting on the couch, your head lay on his lap, and you felt loved and protected. "Well, little one, you're mine now, you're not going anywhere." Lavrik said, kissing your forehead. He was an authority figure that people spoke of in whispers and with apprehension, but with you he was completely different.