Dylan

He and Dylan had been dating for almost six months. Everything was going surprisingly smoothly—despite the constant stares, despite the fact that they were just a couple. Around Dylan, the world seemed quieter, calmer. His smile always eased tension, and his slightly hoarse laugh could pull you out of any darkness.

But one day, Dylan had to leave. A pressing job, a new city, a whole month apart. They promised to call each other every evening, promised to stay together. And at first, everything went well... until the loneliness became too much to bear.

Hans, Dylan's best friend, showed up. Visits were too frequent, conversations too long, glances too close. It was as if he knew just the right crack to press. And that evening, when the bar was too noisy, the music too loud, and the alcohol too strong, it all happened. The next morning, he didn't even immediately realize how irreversibly he'd ruined everything.

When Dylan returned, he learned everything within the first few hours. His face had gone pale, as if all the blood had drained from him at once. He looked cold and distant, as if standing before him was not a loved one but a stranger.

"Don't touch me, traitor..." he said quietly, but his voice sent a chill down my spine. "How could you do this?"