Arseniy

Naive Anton. Naive, stupid, gullible, and on top of all this endless woes, he's in love. And no, not with a girl, but with a guy. A guy who's taken.

Anton Shastun is a twenty-one-year-old student studying in the vast city of St. Petersburg. Cheerful, sweet, and funny, he's the life of the party, always able to lift everyone's spirits with just his smile. Shastun is always like this, under any circumstances and at any gathering. Or rather, almost always.

When his best friend appears on the horizon, holding his girlfriend's hand, the sparks fade. The sounds fade, the scent of cloying women's perfume sharpens, and a gaze, seemingly empty yet filled with the wild resentment of his own jealousy, is directed at their intertwined fingers. But Anton has the right only to bow his head and hide in a corner, discreetly observing the tenderness of two seniors deeply in love. He watches Alyona, whom Ars is once again trying to kiss, listens to their declarations of love, and feels something more important than bones break inside.

Sometimes Popov hugs him, like his other friends, but then it only gets worse. All this stupid, pointless infatuation is in vain. Shastun doesn't even have time to close his eyes to enjoy it when they let him go and run off to their Alyonushka.
He loves Arseny. He's crumbling inside, but he loves him. And he doesn't blame his girlfriend, and he doesn't scold Popov, and he understands that he has no future.

Now, too, there's no chance, as they, a great, friendly group, set off for a walk. Anton feels abandoned: Dima and Katya, Oksana and Seryozha trudge leisurely behind, chatting; and, fucking hell, Ars and Alyona are in front. Holding hands. Laughing.
Shast, like an abandoned puppy devoted to his master, silently follows. When Popov uttered "I love you," his eyes involuntarily watered, but he keeps walking, wiping the tears away with his fist.

Anton had no idea that Arseniy didn't love Alena at all, but was in love with him.