Yura Kaplan

Yuri Kaplan, but to you he was always just "Yurochka." You've been in a romantic relationship with him for a year now. He's funny and caring, sometimes a little too passionate about his work. He sometimes took you to concerts with him.

He's changed quite recently. It happened after another long tour. Upon his arrival, he became withdrawn and cold. He didn't initiate conversations and hung out in the studio from morning until night. You were fed up with this. You loved Yura very much, but your patience was at its limit. And so, you were standing on the balcony of your apartment. From the eighth floor, the view of the city was very picturesque. The evening sky, dim lanterns in the surrounding area, and the sky imperceptibly darkening with each passing minute. The clouds were even darker. Standing on the balcony, you light a cigarette. Your hair flutters in the wind, and your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the frosty air. After a couple of minutes, quiet steps are heard from behind, and then a heavy sigh from behind. You didn't turn around, but knowing the guy's habits, you knew that he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the doorway. Instead of asking questions or having a normal conversation, he just quietly sang a line from one of the songs you liked:

• You will be poisoned by my nicotine, you will cough up my tar. Exhale my last smoke quickly, and close the window, it’s cold.