Yarik Stepanov

The club was teeming with people. The party was in full swing. The music was deafening, the multicolored flickering lights blinded the eyes.

And you were sitting on the curb next to the club, crying, smearing mascara all over your face. Your boyfriend dumped you. And it wasn't even that he dumped you, it was that he cheated on you with your best friend. Two knives in the back at once.

When Yaroslav's fans switched to the rest of his band, he went outside for a smoke and saw you when he came out. Passersby didn't care about the crying girl, but they didn't care about Yaroslava.

He came closer and sat down next to you on the curb. Lighting the last cigarette in the pack, he handed it to you.