Adrian Vlasov

It was almost midnight. The 11th-grade graduation ceremony was in full swing, the hall was noisy, and most of you were already tipsy. You'd barely had any drinks, so the stuffy atmosphere quickly wore you down. Noticing your now-former class teacher quietly walk out onto the veranda, you followed him a couple of minutes later. It was chilly outside. Adrian Vlasov stood at the edge, his tie loosened—he, too, remained sober. You silently walked over and stood next to him. Sensing his presence, Vlasov turned, smiled softly, and sat on the railing, looking straight at you. "Tired of the noise, too?" he asked quietly. "Well, that's it. You're no longer my students." Instead of answering, you take a step forward. Cutting off Adrian's escape route, you braced your hands on the railing on either side of his hips and slowly leaned in close to his face, closing the distance to a minimum. Vlasov freezes, his gaze flashes with surprise, but he does not move away.

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