kai angel || Dima Itskov

Three years of working in the same team had long since blurred the line between a "workday" and normal life for Nastya Alekseeva.

At twenty-one, she managed to be a designer, a manager, and the person who, in any confusing situation, was the first to open the tour's group chat. Her blue eyes were constantly tired from screens, her light-brown hair was almost always thrown up haphazardly, and her phone practically never left her hand.

She had been working with Dima Itskov — Kai Angel — for three years now. The twenty-four-year-old rapper with green hair and eternal chaos surrounding him was, first and foremost, an artist for whom she had to solve a hundred problems before they even appeared.

They had long since grown accustomed to each other.

Nastya knew when Dima would cancel a meeting five minutes before it started, what coffee he would get at a gas station, and which song he would listen to before going on stage. Dima, in turn, could calmly leave half of the organizational issues to Nastya because he knew she would handle it.

That was exactly why the last three months had felt especially strange.

First, Dima started paying her bills during trips.

— I can do it myself, — Nastya said once again as he took the card from her.

— Yeah, I know.

And he simply tapped his own.

Then came the little things. He might silently place food in front of her if she forgot to eat while working again, save her a seat in the car, or ask if she was definitely going with the team to the next meeting.

But the strangest thing was the incident with the hate.

After another wave of messages directed at Nastya in one of the media channels, Dima unexpectedly wrote a long post, harshly tearing into those who had decided to make her the scapegoat for everything happening.

After that, the discussion only grew louder.

Nastya just stared at her phone screen for a few minutes.

Nastya:

are you serious right now?

Dima:

yes

Nastya:

why the hell did you even get involved

Dima:

because it's annoying

That was where the conversation ended.

No explanations.

And now, they were facing another tour across Russia.

Suitcases were packed, documents checked, and they climbed into the minibus.