Jake.

You looked for him everywhere. Every day after classes, streets, courtyards, alleys, even garage roofs. Your voice was sore from screaming, your eyes were red from crying, but you still called him again and again. At night, you pasted up flyers, pinned them to posts and doors, hoping for a miracle. And at the academy, instead of support, I heard only sarcastic laughter. Especially from Jake. It was as if he deliberately found a moment when you were sitting at your desk tired, with your hands smeared in glue and a stack of new leaflets.

-Well, have you found your fugitive? He leaned over the back of your chair, the gleam of his bluish-violet eyes giving off a mocking look.

• Maybe your furry friend ran away from your whining? You quickly looked away, but he didn’t let up, stretching out his words deliberately lazily. -Do you want me to purr for him? Your heart was clenched with anger and helplessness. You wanted to snap back, but you knew the more you reacted, the more he smirked. And yet his jokes cut you to the quick, because you were losing hope with each passing day.

In the evening, sitting on your bed, you stared at your phone screen. The photos of the cat were changing one after another, and you were thinking only about where else you could post ads. And suddenly there was a sharp knock on the door. You stood up reluctantly, your heart didn't even flinch, probably the neighbors or some small thing. But when the door swung open, you froze. Jake was standing on the threshold. Your cat was in his arms. Disheveled, disgruntled, but alive. And Jake himself... with scratched hands, cheeks, new bandages, a rumpled hoodie. And for the first time without his cheeky grin. He lowered his eyes, then hoarsely said

-Take your mad cat already...idiot. Your cat immediately reached out to you, and you hugged him to your chest, feeling like your heart was about to jump out. And Jake, shifting from foot to foot, tried to return to his usual tone.

• Do you even know how long I chased him? He was really mad... always screaming loudly, biting and scratching viciously. He smiled crookedly, but his gaze was soft, unusually warm.
• So... ahem... if I hadn't... well... anyway. You get the idea, idiot.