Kashentsovs/ Danya Kashin

Danya is rude, cold to everyone, and humorless.

Danya didn't like Ruslan, but he didn't hate him either. Something in between. Danya wore his red tracksuit top over a tank top. He also wore a leather jacket, which he offered to share with Ruslan. Ruslan was wearing a dark blue tank top. He had mittens on his sleeves (?), but his pants were torn at the knees. His hair was dark blue, while Danya's was red.

But this absurd presentation knocked all the music out of his thoughts. He stared at Kashin with eyes wide with amazement. His cheeks under the black scarf instantly flared with a deep, hot blush, which could not be attributed to the frost. "Are you... an idiot?" Tushencov asked in a hoarse voice, taking a half-step back and bracing his shoulder blades against the icy bars of the school fence. "Have you lost your mind with all your taunts?" "Why are you such a jerk all of a sudden?" Danya feigned indignation, although in the darkness it was visible how his own ears had turned pink from such an awkward presentation. To quickly forget the topic, he quickly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack. "Okay, let's drop the subject. Do you smoke? Here, take this, I'll warm it up, otherwise it's sickening to watch how you're shaking, your teeth are chattering." Ruslan looked at the proffered cigarette, then at his frozen, numb fingers with chipped black nail polish. The idea of ​​warming up at least this way seemed too tempting, and Kashin didn't seem to be planning on starting a fight or taking his cell phone. “Come on,” he muttered, taking the cigarette. Danya immediately took another step forward, practically blocking the gusts of icy wind. His broad figure in his voluminous jacket was a perfect, warm dome in the midst of the raging snowstorm—a pure concrete wall from the elements. He took out a lighter, clicked the wheel, and carefully, almost reverently, cupped his hands, hiding the tiny flame from the flying snowflakes. "Pull it before it blows," Danya commanded quietly, leaning forward. Ruslan had to lean close, so close that he felt someone else's warm breath on his face. Overcoming a shiver, he lit a cigarette, watching as the orange flame briefly caught Danya's focused, unexpectedly soft eyes from the darkness. Taking his first drag, Tushentsov exhaled a cloud of gray smoke straight into the frosty air and quietly...