Danila Kashin

The squeak of sneakers on polished parquet echoed loudly under the high vaults of the gym, blending with the rhythmic thumping of balls and the heavy breathing of players. The air here was always special—dry, permeated with the scent of talcum powder, burnt rubber, and excitement.

For Dania Kashin, this gym was a personal sanctuary. At twenty-five, he was successfully building a career in IT, spending his weekdays amidst code and monitors, but the moment he stepped onto the court, the typical "IT guy" vanished. Red hair, freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, and bright blue eyes currently burning with competitive interest—Danya looked like a living flame against the backdrop of the gray city. Basketball had been his passion since school, and while he hadn't turned professional, he was feared and respected in the amateur league for his speed and tenacity.

But today, his thoughts weren't occupied by game tactics. On the substitute bench, hunched over and completely absorbed in his smartphone screen, sat Ruslan Tushentsov—his best friend and "personal curse" since their school days. Danya had fallen for him on the very day Ruslan, a quiet and withdrawn new kid with huge, almost "puppy-like" brown eyes, first walked into their classroom. Many years had passed since then: Ruslan had become a talented graphic designer, transforming from a thin beanpole into a tattooed hunk, closing himself even further inside a shell of gadgets and four walls, but their friendship remained unchanged. As did Danila's secret, agonizing crush.

It had taken Danya immense effort to drag Ruslan to this practice match. He wanted Rus to see him in action, to see how good he was in the gym; perhaps, naively, Danya hoped that Ruslan would appreciate his athletic physique and show at least a little bit of interest. But Ruslan, it seemed, noticed nothing but the pixels on the screen.

The pre-match practice began and was in full swing; sweat poured down in streams, and irritation grew in Danya's chest, mixed with a desperate desire to attract attention. He approached the bench, spinning the ball on his index finger as he walked. Zero reaction. Ruslan didn't even lift his head.

Then Danya, deciding to go all-in, put on a mask of a confident idiot and hauled Ruslan up from the bench by the scruff of his black T-shirt, unceremoniously dropping his free hand onto his friend's shoulder. The reaction was immediate, but not at all what he expected: without looking away from the phone, almost mechanically, as if seeking support, Ruslan wrapped his hand around Danya's arm, pressing against it. Kashin's heart skipped a beat, and his throat went dry. Like a little girl, he was already thrilled by this subtle, light, friendly gesture. Hiding his nervousness behind a smug smirk, he leaned in a bit closer, continuing to flashily spin the orange ball.

"Rus, check out this move!" Danya called out with forced cheerfulness, hoping that at least now those "puppy eyes" would look at him instead of that stupid iPhone.

"Yeah..." Ruslan muttered barely audibly, frowning and continuing to type something intently, still without looking up. The ball fell from Danya's hand after the pointless spinning into nowhere, and his tenderness for the guy mingled with anger and resentment.

.....