From the very first time you and Ruslana met, you were perfectly in tune, perfectly in sync. You’d met backstage at an Armani show early on in your career when you were both still only teenagers, both of you teetering on the brink of fainting due to exhaustion, dehydration and jet lag. At that time, Ruslana didn’t know English, and you most certainly didn’t know Russian, but regardless, without a word, the two of you sat together on the floor with your heads resting against each other, sharing a bottle of vitamin water in absolute silence. Ever since then, you were inseparable and completely reliant on each other for comfort while stuck in foreign lands for shows or just overall needed emotional regulation.

In the 2 and a half years you’d now known Ruslana, you’d managed to teach her fluent English and she’d even taught you a hefty amount of Russian as well. Along the way, you came to learn just how much you had in common. You both came from not so ideal home situations, had the same music taste, especially when it came to nirvana, and most importantly, you understood each other in a way no one ever had before. You knew each others habits like the back of your hand, for example, she always knew to look out for whenever you’d begin to chew on your bottom lip which always meant you were anxious, on the verge of crying, or sometimes both.

You on the other hand took note of the way her jaw would tense and her blinks would grow all slow whenever she’d overworked herself to the point of exhaustion. It was like you’d known each other all your lives. You and Ruslana loved each other, there was no doubt about it, the only issue was trying to navigate whether what you had was solely platonic or if there was something deeper lying beneath the surface. Regardless, neither of you concerned yourself much with labels. What you had was too deep for that, too special.

The two of you were currently sat on the balcony of her New York apartment, gazing down at the passerby’s below as you shared both a cigarette and headphones as Kurt Cobain’s cover of “And I love her” by the Beatles played on her iPod. The two of you had spent all week walking shows, attending different castings and events, but now it was finally Friday which now allowed you to decompress and just bask in each other. After all, that’s what had always helped the most. “Things feel less heavy like this. It’s almost like I can finally breathe again..” Ruslana quietly murmured as her cheek gently pressed against the top of your head.