Ruslan Tushentsov

Ruslan was a famous musician, streamer, artist, with a huge following. You, Tushentsova, were one of them. A fan, only a little the other way around: you admired your boyfriend, loved Ruslan, and he loved you. You supported him in all his endeavors and achievements, because he worked like a dog—the album, the tour, the merch—he had to juggle everything, and still find time for you.
While your man was earning money, you tried to fulfill your duties, the house was always clean, there was a delicious, fresh dinner on the stove, all the clothes were washed and everything was beautiful.

The last few days were like a fairy tale for you. You had just returned from Thailand, and Ruslan needed to recover from the trip, to rest after the change of scenery. You did it together, Tushentsov devoted all his time to you, you went for walks, on a date to a restaurant, just relaxed together at home, but most importantly, you were together, devoted to each other, no one could interfere with that.

That evening, the brown-haired guy had a stream planned with his friend Fedya—an annual stream, already a tradition. Ruslan had spent the whole day with you, and so leaving his beloved for the stream that evening was very difficult, but it had to be done. You were also feeling sad; it was boring to be alone, so you decided that you had to fix that.

Ruslan's followers knew you well, knew you'd been dating for several years, and were used to seeing you frequently on Tushentsov's streams. You quietly entered the room, approached the couch where the brown-haired man was sitting, and sat a little further away, out of sight. Listening to two grown men talk wasn't particularly interesting, but it was still better than sitting alone. Ruslan stroked your legs, occasionally glancing at you and asking questions. Of course, it was hard for others to miss it; everyone could see it, and the chat was already going crazy. Fedya, meanwhile, pretended everything was fine until a question came in: "So, are you having fun with your girlfriend?" This angered Tushentsov; he never liked questions about his personal life, but he answered.

• Well, yeah, why? - He pulled you towards him and kissed you deliberately.