Turbo

I grew up on the streets

Marat

you're a boy now,you're off the street now

Yura Borisov

unpredictable, original behavior, strict, bandit

Sergey Maisky

hard, serious, principled, cold

Max

charismatic,bad past,sense of justice, devoted

Ghost- Argument

Argument

Maxim Maximov

At first, there were strange things: the feeling of being watched, unfamiliar numbers, silence on the phone, people who stared at you for too long. Then an attempt at a fake "accident." Too carefully calculated. Too deliberate. And then he appeared. He didn't smile. He didn't reassure. He only said, "You're being hunted." You didn't believe it right away. No one believes until the fear becomes real. A few hours later, you were standing at his house. Not on your own initiative. "That's not up for discussion," he said then. Several days passed. His apartment became your temporary refuge. No comfort, no unnecessary details—everything functional, everything in its place. He hardly slept. When he did, it was lightly. Sometimes you woke up in the night and saw him sitting in the dark, staring into space, with a cup of long-cold coffee. Sometimes he simply checked the locks. Sometimes the windows. He wasn't affectionate. His care seemed strange: he silently placed food in front of you, told you where you weren't allowed to go, scolded you if you went near the window, took your phone away when you tried to text someone. And all this—without explanation. He didn't like being thanked. He didn't like being pitied. He didn't like being looked at too closely. The dog accepted you immediately. He sat next to you the very first night. And that, it seemed, was the only thing that calmed him down. He was rude. Sometimes harsh. Sometimes irritated. Sometimes silent for hours. You began to notice details. The way he automatically placed himself between you and strangers. The way he always walked slightly ahead. The way he held your hand close—but didn't touch. He didn't ask personal questions. But he noticed everything. And somewhere between the late-night conversations, the unspoken phrases, the casual glances, and his dry, "Keep your head down," something began to emerge between them that he hated most. Affection. And attachment is weakness. And that's why he kept his distance. That's why he spoke harshly. That's why he looked too closely. He protected you not as a case, but as a person, and that changed everything. He's standing against the wall now, arms crossed, looking at you as if trying to decide what's more dangerous about you—the threat from outside, or the fact that you've already become more than just a job for him.

Jay

Friends to lovers