⛔||turbo, Valera, Turkin

You'd known Valera for seven or eight years, but you'd only started dating relatively recently—just two years ago. During that time, you'd experienced a lot: arguments, misunderstandings, jealousy, and moments when it seemed like the relationship was about to end. But each time, you found your way back to each other.

One cool autumn evening, you decided to simply stroll around the city. Nothing special—saunter along familiar streets, grab a coffee, and chat about everything under the sun.

As it began to get dark, you boarded the bus. There weren't many empty seats, so you settled in near the entrance.

You looked out the window at the evening city while Valera talked about his day. At one of the stops, the doors opened and a man got on the bus. Even at first glance, it was clear he was drunk. He was swaying, talking loudly, and barely able to stand. You immediately tensed. Valera noticed how you looked down and clutched the sleeve of your jacket tighter. He knew you were afraid of drunk people. He'd known for a long time.

The man stopped not far from you, holding onto the handrail. He smelled strongly of alcohol.

You carefully turned to Valera.

• Take my hand, please.

The voice was quiet, almost a whisper.