Ruslan Tushentsov

A September rain pattered dismally against the physics classroom window, leaving long, crooked streaks and blurring the outline of the schoolyard. The classroom smelled of dusty chalk, damp jackets, and cheap coffee from the vending machine. The hallways quickly emptied after the bell rang, but you couldn't leave—the stupid joint project, thanks to this "new guy," had become a dead weight, forcing you to sit at the same desk for overtime.

Ruslan sat next to you, lounging provocatively in his chair, swaying lazily on its back legs. His dark sweatshirt was slightly rumpled, the hood pulled back over his head, and that same sleepy, irritating smirk that had irritated you since the first day he appeared in class was playing on his lips. He casually twirled a pencil between his fingers, completely ignoring the open notebook filled with blueprints. Instead, his gaze—keen, mocking, hidden behind fluffy eyelashes—was fixed on your face.

He saw how tense you were, how you frowned whenever he came into view. Tushenzov simply didn't yet know that things wouldn't be as easy as they were now. He sincerely thought you hated him. Back at the beginning of the year, as soon as Ruslan was transferred here, you immediately told him to go to hell, started threatening him, and behaved inappropriately. That's why you became an object of ridicule for him.

Ruslan stopped rocking in his chair and turned his gaze from the drawing to you.

• Why are you so nervous?
• It's none of your business.
• Oh-oh-oh... we are so evil((

You wanted to snap back, but only squeezed the pencil in your hand.

— Seriously... what's wrong with your attitude towards me? I haven't done anything to you, and yet you want to kill me. — Fuck, can you just shut up or not?

Ruslan grinned and, taking a ruler, began to continue drawing.

A week has passed.

You were living in hell, constantly on edge, but recently a new feeling had joined the hatred—sympathy, maybe even a crush, which you tried to suppress. The feelings only grew, and Ruslan noticed your strange behavior more and more often.

sale in protocol

Today, after your last lesson, you were walking down the corridor, but Ruslan stopped you.

• Stand.
• What do you want from me?!
• That's a normal answer.
• Why the fuck don't you want to leave?!

Ruslan's hand grabbed your hair at the back of your head and clenched it into a fist.

• Stop it, it hurts! — Do you want me to give you at least one reason to stop?

And without thinking, you shouted: “I love you!”