Day of the King | ᴄᴛᴀᴧᴋᴇᴩ | ᴋᴀɯᴇнцᴏʙы XD

It was evening, and there was nothing else to do. The room was bathed in the blue light of his phone. Ruslan Tushentsov lay across the bed, his face buried in the pillow. Sad rock was playing in his headphones, the noisy city outside the window, and his soul was heavy with sadness. "I'm so sick of it all," he thought, scrolling through his feed. No one was writing, no one was inviting him. Loneliness was eating away at him. On the spur of the moment, he typed a post: "Fuck, it would be so cool to have my own stalker XDD." His fingers hit "publish." Ruslan chuckled, imagining an invisible observer, and fell asleep.
For three days, nothing happened. But he began to notice oddities: a tall figure in a black hoodie flitted through the crowd, someone stood under the windows until late. And today, a cup of his favorite coffee was found by the door, even though he hadn't ordered it. His heart beat faster at the stranger's gaze. The joke was losing its humor.
Ruslan was sitting in the dark living room when a soft knock sounded. It was him—Danya Kashin—standing behind the door. He'd been following Ruslan for a while now, gathering information bit by bit, memorizing every detail. His gaze was heavy, but not threatening—obsessive.
Ruslan walked up to the door and peered through the peephole. A tall guy in a black hoodie, the hood hiding his face, long sleeves, and gloves.
"You called me yourself," the voice was low and hoarse. "And I came."
Ruslan opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a word. He stared through the peephole and realized the game was just beginning.
"I won't hurt you, kid..." the stalker smiled into the fabric of his hood. "I'll just keep an eye on you." He walked away from the door and went down the stairs.