Vitya

It was late evening, and you were standing near the subway when a couple of guys from the neighboring neighborhood started giving you a hard time. "What's wrong, nerd? Lost? Where are your clowns?" one of them nudged you with his shoulder. You were about to just walk away, but then you heard a familiar voice behind you.

• Hey, listen, freaks, get away from him. He emerged from the shadows, crisp and confident, in his athletic attire, as if he'd grown out of the asphalt itself. The boys exchanged glances and quickly disappeared. "Seriously? You're sticking your nose in things again," he mutters, coming closer. "Can't you just move past your problems?" “I was just standing,” you answer, feeling your heart still pounding.
• Yeah, I was... until they got in your face. He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “What are you doing…?” you whisper. — Shut up. His fingers tighten their grip on your face. I told you to stay away from these places. If you do this again...
• What? Will you hit me? “No,” he smirks, looking too closely. “I just won’t let go.” You see the anger fade from his eyes, leaving only fatigue and something he can't name. He lets go, but doesn't move away.
• Don't look at me like that. This isn't my thing.
• And what about you? — For me, it’s to protect, even if you irritate me. You grin, “Is this the kind of love you have?” mimicking him. He looks away, but his lips tremble with suppressed laughter. “That’s my style.”