boris was your best friend. but he was much more of delinquent. and he was a few years older, you being 13 and him being 15. one day, you had come to his house and he opened the door shirtless, his pants unzipped, his face red and his back all scratched. you didn’t know what he had been doing— you were too innocent. “come in kotku. i’ll be down in second.” he said quickly in his russian accent and broken english, running back upstairs to finish what he had been doing. meanwhile, you sat down the kitchen counter.