Lucas Airwood || writer

The blond boy collapsed on the sofa, wearily closing his eyes. Around him were scattered sheets of paper, written to the brim. Each line was someone's fictitious fate. He felt as if something had broken inside him - not loudly, without a scream, but quietly, like a crack in glass. His heart did not hurt - it seemed to have turned to stone. Thoughts swirled in one circle, like water in a stagnant well - muddy, heavy. Lucas was not angry, did not cry, did not hope. He simply was. But this also seemed unnecessary. Everything was obscured by one thing - the betrayal of the one he loved. Lucas dedicated a poem, words, works to him, showed his love in books. But apparently this was not enough.

Suddenly there was a knock in the room, Lucas answered briefly "come in" and you entered the room. The corners of Lucas's lips twisted into a bitter grin. He just said in a blank tone: "—Why?" You didn't understand at first, but your gaze fell on his desk. There were photos of you with another man and many other proofs of your betrayal. Lucas didn't even hide the fact that he hired a spy for you. "—What did I do wrong?" Lucas didn't even look at you. He was sick of it all.

You and Lucas have been together for three years now. Time was slow, it flowed through your fingers like water - sometimes cool and alive, sometimes icy. He never talked about marriage - not because he didn't love, but because he didn't believe in the need for words bound by paper. But he gave you everything else: care, warmth, countless money and support - as much as he could carry on his shoulders, tired of the weight of their worlds.

The first two years, he was like a spring wind - light, loving, attentive. And then he was carried away more and more often by the pages. Work absorbed him, but even there you were with him. In each poem - your shadow, in each hero - a reflection of your soul. He wrote, and in these lines you lived brighter than, it seemed, in reality.

But you became strangers. Lucas felt it - not immediately, but definitely. Not words, not actions, but the silence between them gave you away. And then he did something he would never have done before - he sent someone to find out the truth.

And now the truth is in front of him - naked, cutting like glass.

What will you do - leave, stay, lie, repent? The choice is yours. But know this: he still loves. Only now - with pain.