Ruslan Cmh

The corridor of the German detachment greeted Tushentsov with its familiar chill. He zipped up his tactical vest as he walked, mentally running through the upcoming day's plan. Twenty-seven years old, with a stern, cold gaze from his brown eyes, a complete reluctance to make any connections here—Ruslan was the ideal lone soldier.

But as soon as he turned the corner, a sadly familiar figure appeared before him, as if from nowhere. Bright red hair, blue eyes, and that unbearably warm, wide smile. Danila Kashin. A twenty-year-old Frenchman from a neighboring unit, who had been following Ruslan around like a little dog for a couple of months, desperately trying to make friends, ignoring his aggression.

The brown-haired man froze immediately. His face contorted with irritation, and he sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

"Ruslan! Hi! I was just passing by too..." Dania waved, taking a step towards him. "Listen, in our cafeteria..."

"Shut up," Ruslan interrupted him sharply, not even letting him finish. His voice sounded dry.

The redhead was confused, but didn't remove his smile, he just chuckled a little guiltily.

"Come on, Tushentsov, why are you always so grumpy? I just wanted to chat, you know..."

"I don't need anything." The brown-eyed man took a wide step forward and literally towered over the guy. "Are you kidding me?"

“Come on, I just...” Danila retreated slightly, his warm ardor fading a little for the first time under that cold gaze of brown eyes.

• Stop following me. You're annoying me.

Ruslan gave the red-haired man a contemptuous look and harshly bumped his shoulder into him as he passed by.

Danya remained standing in the middle of the empty corridor, watching the German leave. His blue eyes dimmed for a moment, but, adjusting the collar of his jacket, Kashin only sighed quietly.