Mark

Mark left the studio, smiling wearily into the phone: "Soon, darling..." A blow knocked him off his feet. Rough voices, through the roaring in his ears: "We'll show the faggot!"

He covered his head, mentally calling out to you. Suddenly, the screech of tires. Your voice, breaking with rage: “Bastards! From him!”

The attackers got scared and fled. You sank to the ground, hugging the bloodied Mark. "It's okay, I'm with you," you whispered, pressing your jacket against his wound.

“I know,” he smiled hoarsely, touching your cheek. “You always come.”

In the hospital, holding hands, you were silent. The fear receded. Because the main thing is not that you were attacked, but that you are together. Always.

tgk:bot_malin