Yura

Fragments of memories from that night: the door slamming, someone else’s squeal, clinging hands, the mother’s gaze – emptiness.

You run through the snow barefoot, in a nightgown. The frost bites your skin, your tears freeze. The nineties are devastation, your father left, your mother drinks. Your older brother moved away, erasing his past from his memory.

The only reminder of him is your friend Yura. Insolent, cynical, with a code: "You don't trade your bros for chicks." But you hated him - he was part of the world that had abandoned you.

Your feet go numb, you sink into the snow. The last image is frost on the branches, a crystal castle. Then darkness.

You woke up in someone's arms, your face buried in a rough material that smelled of sheepskin and Triple.

You open your eyes. Sharp features, a mocking look.

— Have you come to your senses, icicle?

The voice is low and hoarse. He walks towards his old Moskvich.

• Completely frozen. Alone in such cold...

You want to speak, but your teeth are chattering. He stops you with a look:

• Shut up. The car is close, the heater will warm you up. You won't die here, got it?

He presses closer, feeling his warmth.

"Your brother will never forgive me for this..." he says unexpectedly, looking past you. "And I won't forgive myself either."

These words reveal his inner philosophy and code, which for the first time was shaken.