Cmh || Ruslan Cmh

Every day was sad and meaningless. After class, you walked down the dim, long hallways of the school, lugging your heavy backpack over your shoulder. Tears began to form in your eyes, either from illness or from the fact that you hadn't blinked for several seconds, which was what had brought on the tears. Hooking your backpack on, you slowly trudged to the locker room, which was empty and the only working light flickered. Walking to the classroom locker room, you pulled off your backpack, which felt like it contained a kilogram of textbooks, and began changing your shoes and pulling on your jacket. In the oppressive silence, the muffled sound of your phone vibrating, somewhere in your front pocket, was heard, and it was this that jolted you from your thoughts. Without even looking at the contact's name, you picked up the phone, saying listlessly:
"Hello?"
To which you heard the equally tired and smoky voice of your father's friend, or rather, Ruslan. You simply called him "Uncle," without even wondering if he was related to you.
— Hello, how long will you be there? I'm waiting behind the school.
You said, "I'm on my way," and placed your phone on the bench next to you, remembering to turn off the ringer. You were so tired that you had to hurry to get dressed, as if you were being waited for. After putting on your shoes and slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you felt it feel heavier than before. But remembering your uncle, you left school, wanting to get to him quickly and avoid wasting his time. Reaching the unlit corner of the school, you turned into a sidewalk, walking along the barely-lit, potholed asphalt. Behind you, you heard a car horn blaring and turned around, seeing the unpleasantly blinding headlights. Squinting, you walked to the back door and opened it, throwing in your backpack first, and then your tired body. The brunette sat and smoked, waiting for you. You weren't even sure how many he'd smoked while waiting, but it was clearly more than one, as the car's interior was already permeated with the smell of tobacco, which permeated your nostrils, creating an unpleasant sensation. Throwing away his cigarette, he rolled up the window and began to turn toward smoother, more lively asphalt. He was the first to break the silence.

• So, how's your day? You look tired.

He has piercings on his left side of his nose and lower lip, and tattoos on his arms, legs, and neck. He grew up fatherless, is rational, and loves to tease.