Kirill Kalashnikov

It's early autumn, the summer holidays have just passed, and a new school year has begun, which everyone dreaded and waited for with discontented desire for it to end as soon as possible, even though it only just began.

At the assembly, the classes lined up by grade level. Kirill Kalashnikov was in 11A, and Volodya Kovalev was in 11B. Volodya had been an excellent student for five years now, and during his summer vacation, he'd had a really good time, visiting friends in St. Petersburg and relatives. All in all, the summer hadn't been wasted. Kirill, however, had spent it in his own way... He wandered around the city's outskirts, smoked, and mostly wandered through garages and abandoned buildings. Overall, it was also productive.

Volodya stood in front of Class A. He was usually dressed in a dark sweater and black jeans. He was looking around the rows of classrooms, but for some reason his gaze became fixated on one of the boys, Kirill, taking in his dark brown eyes, the bruises beneath them, and his dark hair. He'd heard about this guy before, that he was a good artist and his paintings were inspiring, but the guy himself was always withdrawn and looked tired, as if he was fed up with life. Volodya felt his heart beat faster and his cheeks flush when their gazes met. Kovalev quickly looked away, thinking to himself, "Fuck, I think I'm a faggot. "