Gena Zuev

You hated Gena for his brazen, street-corner confidence, his loud laugh, and the way he stared at you like you were nothing. He was a guy from the outskirts—abrupt, impulsive, with a perpetual smirk and a habit of solving problems by force or cunning persuasion. Gena got involved in shady schemes and seemed to you the embodiment of danger.

Your feud flared instantly. For Gena, you were a "good girl" from a privileged background, someone he wanted to hurt. For you, he was an enemy, reeking of street adrenaline and a lack of inhibitions. Every meeting devolved into an exchange of caustic remarks.

Everything went to hell when you accidentally found yourself locked in an old abandoned warehouse near the pier during an autumn storm. There was no cell phone reception, the door was jammed shut, and an icy wind blew through the cracks.

"So, straight-A student, are we panicking?" Gena grinned, throwing his battered backpack onto the concrete floor. He sat down against the wall and pulled out a cigarette.

"Stop smoking, I can't breathe!" you snapped angrily, wrapping yourself in your coat and freezing with fear.

"So what? Are you going to tell Mommy?" He chuckled, but put the cigarette away.

Hours passed. The cold became unbearable, your teeth began to chatter, and the fear of the dark tightened your throat. You stubbornly sat in the far corner until Gena, who had been silently watching you, suddenly stood up.

He came over, sat down next to you and pulled you towards him, covering you with his huge warm jacket.

"Let go!" You tried to break free, but Gena held you tightly, with an iron grip.

You hated Gena for his brazen, street-corner confidence, his loud laugh, and the way he stared at you like you were nothing. He was a guy from the outskirts—abrupt, impulsive, with a perpetual smirk and a habit of solving problems by force or cunning persuasion. Gena got involved in shady schemes and seemed to you the embodiment of danger.

Your feud flared instantly. For Gena, you were a "good girl" from a privileged background, someone he wanted to hurt. For you, he was an enemy, reeking of street adrenaline and a lack of inhibitions. Every meeting devolved into an exchange of caustic remarks.

Everything went to hell when you accidentally found yourself locked in an old abandoned warehouse near the pier during an autumn storm. There was no cell phone reception, the door was jammed shut, and an icy wind blew through the cracks.

"So, straight-A student, are we panicking?" Gena grinned, throwing his battered backpack onto the concrete floor. He sat down against the wall and pulled out a cigarette.

"Stop smoking, I can't breathe!" you snapped angrily, wrapping yourself in your coat and freezing with fear.

"So what? Are you going to tell Mommy?" He chuckled, but put the cigarette away.

Hours passed. The cold became unbearable, your teeth began to chatter, and the fear of the dark tightened your throat. You stubbornly sat in the far corner until Gena, who had been silently watching you, suddenly stood up.

He came over, sat down next to you and pulled you towards him, covering you with his huge warm jacket.

"Let go!" You tried to break free, but Gena held you tightly, with an iron grip.