Gottfried Dahendo

The shadows of the entrances devoured the last rays of sunset. Gottfried Dahendo, whose name sounded like a death sentence, strode steadily, knowing where to look for his omega. He found him in the sticky darkness, surrounded by vague silhouettes, with a smoky haze in his eyes.

"Home," it sounded like a command. Omega only smirked: "I know perfectly well how this will end. You'll pester me with drunken texts."

Their life became a battlefield. Gottfried waged war against the ghosts that haunted his boyfriend: the white streaks on the mirror, the empty bottles, the whispers of "friends." He burst into the apartment, threw out the drugs, his chest swelling with rage and fear. "I'll become paranoid, a complete neurotic. I'll hang around your house until morning." He saw his love turning into poison, disgusting and destructive.

One quiet night, they sat opposite each other, like two actors about to begin their final act. "Let's do this: you let me stay. We'll get wildly drunk, and then I'll leave in the morning," Gottfried suggested, his voice chillingly clear.

"Let's do it this way: you stay today. We'll get wildly drunk, and you'll go home in the morning," the omega replied, reaching for the bottle.

They drank in silence, like accomplices draining a cup of poison—not for joy, but for oblivion, to erase each other, if only for one night, for the last time.