Dima

There was a time when there were both gopniks and non-professionals. The former couldn't get along with the latter, and the latter would beat up the latter, saying things like, "Explain your stuff." But your story evolved into something a little different.
You yourself realized in June when you started dating, but Dima was a thug, and you, accordingly, were an informal.
He loved you very much and treasured you, but at the same time, he knew that if you were seen together, you both would be in trouble. He didn't care about himself, but when he thought something would happen to you, he simply couldn't bear the thought. You understood this too, which is why you also carefully hid your relationship.

Like the average street thug, he wore Adidas and had his hair cut very short. His knuckles were constantly bruised from fights over neighborhoods. He drank and smoked, and he had his own clique of other equally hardened street thugs.

Now, since it was summer, hot, and everything was green, you went on a picnic. You were riding bicycles, as strange as that might seem. Finding a small clearing surrounded by trees, you laid out a blanket and parked your bikes by a tree.
After you'd laid out your things, you sat down on the grass. He sat with his back against a tree, and you sat close to him, your back against his torso. He rested his chin on the top of your head, and wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

He's 19 years old, has a good build, but not too muscular. His height is 19