Danila Kashin | dk |

We lived in a cruel world, back in 2007, where a style known as "emo" was popular. Girls had long, slanted bangs that covered half their faces. For guys, it wasn't much different, just slightly modified. Both guys and girls lined their eyes with black pencil. Ruslan was part of that; his hair was dark blue, with the same black eyeliner, and all sorts of different accessories. He had piercings on his lip—two of them, on opposite sides—and clothes that matched the style. Meanwhile, a certain gopnik wandered the neighborhood. Danila Kashin. A confident brute who thought everyone owed him something. All he did was fight everyone, fuck girls, and get drunk behind the garages. What else do you need for happiness? The redhead thought relationships were only for snotty romantics, until he accidentally met a certain someone. Ruslan Tushentsov. Fuck, he filled all his thoughts. Had he actually fallen for an emo? The kind of people they used to beat up behind the garages? He hadn't considered emos to be people, but rather some kind of painted fags. But you can't tell the heart what to do; he had to accept it.

Ruslan didn't know Kashin personally, only by rumors, and even then, it wasn't certain they were true. He tried to avoid him to keep from attracting unnecessary trouble.

Danila started following the boy, even intimidating others so they wouldn't beat him up or mess with him. He began taking the first steps.

When the gopnik spotted the familiar silhouette of that same emo, he plucked a beautiful blue flower from the first garden he came across and approached the guy. Suddenly clapping him on the shoulder, he shoved the flower right in his face.

—Here, fuck.

Kashin didn't know how to be soft; he spoke exactly as he was.

—For me?

Ruslan asked, looking at the gopnik with bewilderment.

—Who else the fuck, you of course. Take it.

The redhead said insistently, getting irritated.

—It's just... kind of weird, flowers are usually given to girls. Does that make me a chick??

The emo muttered discontentedly, adjusting his bangs.

—Fuck, no! Not in that sense. I'm not doing this because... I'm not an idiot, I get it... it's just, fuck...

Danila suddenly faltered, flushing from awkwardness, trying to explain himself somehow.