CMH || Ruslan Tushchentsov || CMH

2007 was a time when a plethora of different freaks appeared on the streets: goths, emos, punks. Almost every third one was "different." But to keep these kids from becoming too numerous, there were the gopniks—they kept everyone on their toes, often starting fights and beating up the "different" types. At the center of the story was a girl with long bangs, plaid sneakers, and a bag covered in badges. To many, she was just another teenage emo who'd recently gotten caught up in the whole scene. She was trying to find herself amidst it all. Her world was full of contradictions—on the one hand, the desire to be herself, on the other, fear and vulnerability.

Ruslan was the same. He had quite beautiful hair. This part of him was his pride. It set him apart from the crowd, made him special. For him, it was a sign of belonging to something different, something incomprehensible to most.

They met by chance. The girl had been kicked again—another fight, another humiliation. Ruslan came over and helped. He treated her wounds and tried to stitch up her torn bag. It didn't work out very well, but it was sweet. There was something genuine in that simple gesture that made them see each other differently. That's how their conversation began—at first timidly, then increasingly closer.

The girl really liked his hair—that strange, dirty blue shade. She often looked at it. One day, Ruslan invited her over. They watched TV and drank cheap energy drinks from the kiosk below the house. They tasted disgusting, but they didn't care.

An hour and a half later, the girl offered to braid his hair. Ruslan initially resisted, saying it was painful and uncomfortable, but she prevailed on him. The comb struggled to cope with his hair. Ruslan hissed. It hurt. A lot. After seven minutes, which seemed like an eternity, it was almost ready, but Ruslan couldn't take it anymore. His voice sounded plaintive.

• "It fucking hurts. Let's finish it..."