The lecture hall at RUT MIREA’s Department of Computer Design was a battlefield of clutter—laptops half-open, energy drink cans rolling under desks, and scribbled notes littering the floor. At the front, Ivan Broshko stood like a stoic general, unfazed by the chaos. His deep, measured voice cut through the murmurs of distracted students as he explained the intricacies of a new design software, his hands gesturing with precision toward the projected screen.
“Look, if you don’t grasp layer integration now, you’ll be rebuilding your entire project from scratch later,” Ivan said, his tone calm but firm, as if he could will their attention into existence. Most students, however, were more focused on their phones or stifling yawns. A few, though, couldn’t help but steal glances at their professor. As Ivan rolled up his sleeves to point at a specific toolbar on the screen, his toned forearms flexed subtly, the fabric of his shirt stretching just enough to hint at the muscular frame beneath. Oblivious to the admiring eyes, he carried on, lost in the world of code and design.
When the lecture finally ended, Ivan gathered his notes and escaped to the faculty lounge, craving solitude. The lounge was a cramped space, smelling of burnt coffee and stale pastries, with mismatched chairs and a flickering fluorescent light. Ivan poured himself a cup of black coffee, the bitter aroma grounding him as he leaned against the counter, avoiding the chatter of colleagues swapping weekend gossip. His reserved nature was practically a fortress—polite nods, minimal eye contact, and a clear message: *Leave me be.*
That peace shattered when Igor Morozov burst through the door like a whirlwind of ginger chaos. His messy hair bounced with each step, and he tossed a teetering stack of ungraded papers onto the nearest table with a dramatic thud. “Another day in paradise, eh, Broshko?” Igor grinned, his voice loud enough to turn heads.
Ivan didn’t flinch, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “If paradise is watching you procrastinate, then sure.”
Igor barked a laugh, dragging a chair over and flopping into it beside Ivan with zero regard for personal space. “Come on, Broshko, do you ever smile, or is your face just stuck in debug mode? I swear, you’re more robot than man sometimes.”
A rare smirk tugged at Ivan’s lips, his gray eyes glinting with dry humor. “Maybe if you spent less time joking and more time grading, Morozov, you’d have fewer students failing.”
“Touché, my stoic friend, touché!” Igor clapped a hand on Ivan’s shoulder, unfazed by the jab. He leaned back, running a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “Speaking of changes, notice anything different about me? I finally ditched the infamous mustache. Took a razor to it this morning.”
Ivan’s gaze flicked over Igor’s face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah, I noticed. You look less like a 70s porn star now.”
Igor’s green eyes widened before he threw his head back, laughing so hard the chair creaked. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a mock-seductive whisper. “Careful, Ivan. Keep talking like that, and I might think you’ve been staring at me.”
A faint flush crept up Ivan’s neck, but he held his ground, his expression cool as ever. He set his coffee down with deliberate calm. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve got better things to look at—like the project we’ve been assigned for the design expo. We should probably start planning.”
Igor groaned, slumping dramatically in his chair, arms flailing. “Ugh, workload central! Can’t we just slap together some basic mockups and call it a day? Or, hear me out—let’s spice it up. Throw in some wild, unconventional ideas. Shake things up a bit.”
Ivan raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Your definition of ‘spice’ usually means disaster. But fine. Let’s brainstorm after hours. I’d rather get a head start than clean up your mess later.”
“Deal!” Igor’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Prepare to be dazzled, Broshko. I’ve got ideas that’ll blow your circuits.”
That evening, the lecture hall was a different beast—empty, quiet, save for the faint hum of a laptop fan and the occasional clink of design tools scattered across a desk. Ivan and Igor sat side by side, surrounded by open notebooks and glowing screens, the air thick with the tension of clashing minds. Ivan’s focus was laser-sharp, sketching out a streamlined interface concept, while Igor doodled something absurd—a UI shaped like a disco ball.
“Seriously, Morozov?” Ivan’s voice was flat as he glanced at the sketch. “We’re designing for a professional expo, not a rave.”
Igor nudged Ivan with his shoulder, the brief contact sending an unexpected jolt through Ivan’s usually guarded demeanor. “Lighten up, man! Step out of your comfort zone for once. Not everything has to be so... rigid.” Igor’s tone was teasing, but his eyes held a challenge, daring Ivan to let go, just a little.
Ivan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull away from the proximity. Instead, he met Igor’s gaze, his voice low and steady. “I’m plenty flexible when it matters. But I’m not about to tank our project for your chaos.”
Igor’s crooked smile widened, and for a moment, Ivan found himself caught in it—those uneven lips, the glint of playful rebellion in Igor’s expression. He quickly looked away, focusing on the laptop screen, his fingers typing a little faster than necessary. Internally, though, his thoughts churned. *Damn it, why does he get under my skin like this? Irritating, reckless, and yet... intriguing.* Ivan pushed the thought aside, but the seed of curiosity had already taken root, nestled uncomfortably beside his usual irritation at Igor’s boundless, chaotic charm.
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