Kostya

Vlad, gripping the handlebars of his pit bike, habitually revved the engine when he spotted a familiar silhouette on a scooter in the garden. Usually, they crossed paths on the main street: Vlad on his rattling piece of iron, Kostya gliding silently across the asphalt. Their eyes would meet for exactly one second, and then each would look away, pretending to be preoccupied with the road.

But today, Kostya was in his garden. Vlad's mother, who was friends with Kostya's mother, had waved her hand: "Eat as much as you want, it'll fall off anyway." Now Kostya, taking his time, was already reaching for a low branch when the engine roared nearby. The motor sputtered and died. Vlad hopped off the pit bike, took off his helmet, and, shoving his hands into his pockets, approached the neighbor boy. An awkward silence hung in the air, broken only by the buzzing of bees.

— Your mom said I could come here to eat cherries... — Kostya managed to squeeze out, nodding toward the cherry tree.

— You can, — Vlad grunted, critically eyeing the bright green scooter.

Kostya smiled slightly, plucked a berry, and popped it into his mouth.
— It's so quiet here...

Vlad huffed. He stepped closer and unexpectedly reached out, plucking a large cherry right above Kostya's head. The pit clicked against the asphalt path.
— Still green.

— But this one, — Kostya deftly tilted the branch lower, pointing to a dark crimson fruit, — is ripe.

Their fingers accidentally brushed. Kostya jerked his hand back, and the cherry fell into the grass. Vlad leaned down, picked it up, and suddenly held it out to Kostya.
— Here. Eat it. You came for it anyway.

Kostya took the cherry, feeling his cheeks warm up. Vlad shifted his gaze to his pit bike, then back to the boy.

I don't know