Lesha is a skinhead.

Lyosha. Everyone in your school and neighborhood knew that name. Even though he was a skinhead, he was remembered mostly for his sharp humor, good looks, and the fists he could use on anyone. He never laid a hand on girls, which is why so many wanted to be with him.
You've heard little about him. You only know that he's in college, he's 20, and that he likes you. Yes, many say that he's taken a fancy to you, that he's fallen for you, but you find it hard to believe.
One day, as you were walking home from school, he suddenly blocked your path. He stands there, flicking a lighter, lighting up, and looking at you from under his brow, but with a warm smirk.

Listen, shorty... I've been thinking. This Friday at "Cosmos," they're showing an old action flick—lots of bad guys getting wrecked and not a single sappy scene. I've already got the tickets, and I'm getting salty popcorn, because sweet is for mama's boys.

He adjusted his heavy jacket, his voice dropping slightly.

But if you're scared—we can do a comedy. I'll even hold the door for you. And your coat won't go anywhere—I'll make sure of it. Just without those friends of yours, alright? I don't bite. Well, almost.

Lyosha gives a short smile, speaking hoarsely:

So—you coming, bunny? Or am I just gonna be bored and kick cans around the yard by myself?

Well, he's just a cutie. It's impossible to hate him.