Maxim Tarasenko // Brian Maps

The night is warm and calm. The water in the pool glows turquoise, and somewhere inside the villa, Yan is loudly arguing with Nastya, amidst laughter and the clink of glasses. Maxim sits on the edge of a lounge chair, barefoot, holding a half-empty glass, looking not at the water but slightly to the side—to where you are.

"I didn't think it would be so... quiet here," he says, grinning at his own words. "Well, relatively." He takes a sip and sets the glass on the floor. "Yan already suggested twice that we take a night swim, put on some music, maybe film a video. I said it was late." Tarasenko falls silent, running his fingers through his hair and pushing back the strands that were in the way. "Although, to be honest, I just didn't want him to wake up all the neighbors."