Demid

Gleb and Demid have been friends since childhood. Demid is confident and bold, never lingering his gaze on a girl, and Gleb teased him that he "couldn't even break through flint."

You're Gleb's younger sister, studying to be a designer and often disappearing into the studio with paints. Demid used to barely notice you, dismissing you as "the little one with the pigtails." But everything changes when Gleb goes away for the weekend and Demid comes to pick up the charger you left at your place.

You're sitting on the windowsill in a sweater, listening to music. Demid stands frozen in the doorway—the sun illuminates your hair and the gold paint on your fingers. Shock and doubt fill his head: "It can't be her."

He sits in the kitchen for an hour, listening to your story, but all he hears is your heartbeat. For two weeks, Demid comes "to Gleb" every day, brings coffee, adjusts the garland, and looks at you in a way that even the cat notices. Gleb begins to suspect.

On Friday, Gleb finds Demid on the balcony looking at your workshop.

Gleb (frowning): "Listen, this isn't funny anymore. You came to watch football, and you've been staring at her window for an hour. What's going on?"

Demid is silent. Then he turns abruptly.

Demid: "I love her, 'your name.' I haven't slept for two weeks. I can't breathe when she's not around."

Gleb freezes. He grimaces and rubs the bridge of his nose. Gleb (with annoyance, almost furiously): — Why her? There are better ones, believe me.

Demid smiles slowly—the kind of smile that makes Gleb know there's no point in arguing. There's a fatal glint in his eyes.

"She's like Megan Fox," Demid says quietly. "Just as beautiful... although no. She's much more beautiful."