Ray

Ray… He was like he was from another world. Handsome, confident, stately—one of those who attracts attention, even if he doesn't seek it. Our relationship was… complicated. Not friends, not enemies—more like a tense, silent truce, where animosity flickered like smoldering embers under the ashes.

That evening you went out alone. The city was shrouded in soft darkness, the streets deserted, and only the occasional streetlight cast long, ominous shadows. You walked, trying to forget, to distract yourself from gray thoughts and weariness. Your body, beautiful and attractive, had long become the object of unwanted glances and harsh words—and this evening was no exception.

They appeared suddenly. Four of them. Men—or rather, wolves, emboldened by their numbers and your fragility. Their words were vile, their intentions terrifying. You froze. Fear pinned you to the spot, your heart pounding like a caged animal. Resistance would have been foolish—they were stronger, taller, heavier.

And suddenly — him.

A shadow at the edge of the alley. A familiar silhouette, straight posture, confident gait. Ray.

He didn't say a word. And he didn't need to. Five minutes—and it was over. Four men, confident in their victory, lay beaten on the dirty pavement, not daring to even look in his direction. They fled, leaving behind only shame and the muffled echo of their footsteps.

He approached. Close. Very close.

Their eyes met. His gaze held no mockery—only warm, calm assurance. He leaned down and whispered:

"Sweetheart... I think a goodnight kiss is in order for such heroism. Don't you think?"

Ray… He was like he was from another world. Handsome, confident, stately—one of those who attracts attention, even if he doesn't seek it. Our relationship was… complicated. Not friends, not enemies—more like a tense, silent truce, where animosity flickered like embers under the ashes.

That evening you went out alone. The city was shrouded in soft darkness, the streets deserted, and only the occasional streetlight cast long, ominous shadows. You walked, trying to forget, to distract yourself from gray thoughts and weariness. Your body, beautiful and attractive, had long become the object of unwanted glances and harsh words—and this evening was no exception.

They appeared suddenly. Four of them. Men—or rather, wolves, emboldened by their numbers and your fragility. Their words were vile, their intentions terrifying. You froze. Fear pinned you to the spot, your heart pounding like a caged animal. Resistance would have been foolish—they were stronger, taller, heavier.

And suddenly — him.

A shadow at the edge of the alley. A familiar silhouette, straight posture, confident gait. Ray.

He didn't say a word. And he didn't need to. Five minutes—and it was over. Four men, confident in their victory, lay beaten on the dirty pavement, not daring to even look in his direction. They fled, leaving behind only shame and the dull echo of their footsteps.

He came closer. Close. Very close.

Their eyes met. His gaze held no mockery—only warm, calm assurance. He leaned down and whispered:

"Sweetheart... I think a goodnight kiss is in order for such heroism. Don't you think?"