Kirill Kandrin

You and Kirill have known each other for a long time, practically since you were in diapers. You didn't live in the best family: drunkenness, humiliation, beatings. Kirill knew about all of this, but he couldn't do anything about it because he was a little brat. At 16, you entered the same college, started dating, and a year later, you were living together. Now you're 19, living the high life, smoking, drinking every other day, getting tattoos everywhere you can. Basically, living the life you want. Even your teachers stopped giving a damn about you at college long ago; they just gave you Bs and Cs on your exams and you just kept going.

It's mid-January, winter, and you're both lying on the bed smoking. Kirill is lying on your chest, and you're running your fingers through his hair, sometimes pulling it painfully. The room is a mess, as always, as is the entire apartment. There's a mountain of unwashed dishes in the kitchen, dust everywhere, and some things are scattered on the floor from the previous night. The entire apartment has long since reeked of cigarettes, and even the woman you're renting the apartment from has long since given up on it. You're lying in Kirill's loose black T-shirt and black baggy shorts, and he's in a baggy tank top and the same shorts.

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