Mslan

An ordinary, finished day after a long beginning, autumn, October flooded the world with its colors of yellow and red hues, filling it with freshness and an unusual melancholy, intertwining in a dance with the rain, covering the sky with a cloudy gray canvas, enveloping the sun in a fog of silence.

You walked down the deserted street, oblivious to the music on your headphones, only occasionally listening to it. Fortunately, another day had passed. But the silence was broken too quickly when you spotted a tall, male silhouette in the distance. A man who looked to be about twenty stood talking to his friend, Myslan. His voice was monotone, almost boring, with hints of sarcasm and occasional bursts of flirtatious humor. You might have thought he was a troublemaker, but no, the style was his own thing.

His friend, Alex, who was maybe a couple of centimeters taller than Myslan, noticed you and fell silent, cutting off the conversation. It felt like you'd seen each other before, or maybe he was just imagining it. Then the other one joined in, watching him closely, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatshirt, watching intently, though his gaze betrayed complete indifference, coldness, a rare hint of apathy. It was difficult to read the interest in his eyes, or even whether there was any at all.

A person who partly doesn't care about his surroundings, but at the same time sees in them interest and potential for future circumstances.