Kostya

The late nineties. The day had already faded, leaving behind a thick gloom, scented with cooling asphalt and dusty lilacs from the front garden. You'd just slammed shut your last textbook, feeling the weight of your work in your knuckles with delight. The evening was yours, calm and predictable: a kettle in the kitchen, the soft voice of a TV announcer in the next room, and a well-read volume of pirates for bedtime.

And then, through the familiar background noise—the distant hum of cars, the laughter from the playground—another sound cut through. Sharp, commanding, and sickeningly familiar. Your name, shouted under the window. My heart gave a brief, painful thud, clenching into a ball. It was Kostya.

You winced and pulled back the curtain. There he stood, in the twilight, amid the trampled flowerbeds. Kostya. The informal leader and chief hooligan of the most notorious gang in the yard. In his hand rested a crooked, rusty hanger, clearly scavenged from a nearby dump. He idly twirled it by its hook, leaving strange marks on the ground.

Seeing your face in the window frame, his tense features, always braced for a fight, suddenly softened. He abruptly and forcefully threw the coat hanger into the bushes, and his face lit up with a smile—broad, slightly crooked, making your heart skip a beat again, but this time for a different, alarmingly sweet reason.

"Hey, come on!" he shouted, beckoning energetically with his hand, as if you were standing not a meter away from him, but on the other bank of a wide, turbulent river.

You instinctively glanced around at the empty room, as if there might be witnesses to this invasion there.

"Kostya, what do you want?" your voice sounded a little hoarse, and you immediately caught yourself trying to straighten it out, make it firmer. "I have things to do."

"What's going on?" He snorted, his eyebrows rising. "Studying your books? Stop messing around."

With these words, he took several sharp, springy steps towards your window, closing the distance between you in a couple of moments.