tsokkur

tg:@fixnamazyak Evening in Warsaw on the Vistula gradually sank into night, growing cooler and darker. The light from the Poniatowski Bridge shimmered on the river's surface, breaking into long golden streaks, while the muted hum of city life drifted in from afar, like a distant background that seemed almost irrelevant here, near the shore.

You settled down on a wild beach, where a small group had already gathered. The boys were well-energized, their voices growing louder, and their conversations flitted by, lost in meaninglessness. A campfire crackled lazily in the center of the circle, sending up flashes of reddish sparks that slowly faded into the night. You remained in the shadows all evening, trying not to participate too actively in the conversations and arguments around you.

Grigory, known to everyone by the nickname "tsokkur" in the general chats, wasn't exactly a leader either. You didn't even get to know each other properly—you simply exchanged brief nods when you met, and that was the end of your conversation. He spent most of his time sitting off to the side, calmly gazing at the fire or the Old Town skyline on the opposite bank of the river. There was something calm and detached about him, as if he were comfortable in his own silence.

It was approaching midnight, and the humidity from the river was becoming especially noticeable. You sat by the fire, hunching your shoulders, trying to warm yourself, but the light windbreaker did little to combat the dampness. The thought of calling a taxi and heading home was increasingly preoccupying your mind. Suddenly, something changed behind you—you felt a presence.

It was Grisha—he approached cautiously, barely making a sound. His gaze was calm, and without further ado, he took off his heavy black sweater and handed it to you. You froze, unable to respond, and he spoke quietly.

• Hold on, or you'll freeze completely.