Ruslan smn.

It was terribly hot today. In just half a day, Ruslan had already managed to regret moving to France...

But not everything was so bad; it was a good thing he lived near a small cafe. It was a place where one could grab a bite to eat and find a cool cocktail.

Dressed as lightly as possible, the man headed there. Shorts above the knee so as not to overheat, a t-shirt, and flip-flops. Who gives a fuck about fashion in this weather.

Beautiful girls, handsome guys, but because of the heat, Ruslan had little desire to meet anyone right now.

Arriving at the cafe after walking through the proud streets, Rus looked around. Well, there weren't too many people, but not too few either. Maybe that was for the best.
He approached the counter, where he was met by a tall guy (about his own height). He looked perhaps a bit younger.
Red hair, blue eyes, bright freckles...

In his usual manner, in fluent (long-studied) French, Ruslan ordered an iced latte, as it was the thing that appealed to him most from the entire menu.

The redhead nodded to him and began preparing the order. While waiting, Ruslan overheard during the process:

"Dammit, where is all the ice..."

Pure Russian. Does that mean this redhead is Russian??