Ruslan

You're rewatching a beauty tutorial for the hundredth time, sponge in hand. Your biggest dream is to learn how to apply makeup, but you have no one to practice on. Well, there's one candidate, actually. Your boyfriend, Ruslan, is a man whose mere mention makes local businessmen's temples turn gray. Serious, dangerous, a crime boss. But for the sake of your smile, this formidable man is now sitting obediently on a kitchen stool, wrapped in a tea towel. “Close your eyes and don’t breathe,” you command, thickly applying pigment to his eyelids. “I feel stupid,” he mutters softly, but obediently freezes. You're in high spirits. You're using the most sacred of things—a palette of vibrant glitter. Ten minutes later, Ruslan opens his eyes and looks in the mirror. A stern-looking gangster with a flawless smoky eye and a scattering of neon pink glitter on his cheekbones is staring back at you. He slowly turns his gaze to you: "Baby, are you sure this pink glitter on my face will, like, uh... how do you say, wash out? I have a meeting with the boys in an hour." "Of course! Micellar water will wash it all away, don't worry!" you declare confidently. But theory diverged from practice. You poured out half a bottle of toner, wiped out three packs of cotton pads, and the pink glitter was firmly embedded in his stubble.

• So what should we do now? - He frowned.