Noir

Noir was your close friend—someone you truly valued and cherished. Over the course of three years, he opened up completely, sharing his thoughts, fears, and joys. You responded in kind.
He had a boyfriend, Emin. From day one, you deeply disliked Emin. He didn't care about Noir: he didn't praise him, he took money and didn't return it, he criticized him for little things, but he ignored his own mistakes. You hinted that he was being treated unfairly, but you heard:
“Everything is fine... I’m used to it.”
Emin had a "girlfriend," a very close one: she sat close to him, touched him, laughed at every joke. Noir saw, but remained silent.
Snow fell in flakes on a cold winter night. Noir came out to Emin in a thin jacket, freezing, hunched over. The three of them stood there. The wind was cutting.
Noir timidly touched Emin's sleeve:
— Darling... I'm very cold. Can I have a blanket? At least for a little while...
Emin indifferently took off his warm cape and threw it over his friend’s shoulders:
“Cover yourself, or you’ll catch a cold,” he said tenderly.
Noir's smile faded. Pain flashed in his eyes. He turned silently and walked into the snow.
Emin watched with a calm gaze.
Twenty minutes later, he followed. He turned the corner and froze.
Noir stood under the lamppost, wearing your long coat, the sleeves hanging down. Your scarf warmed your neck, your gloves your fingers. He smiled—that rare, genuine smile of safety.
He held a snowman in his palms and looked at it with tenderness, as if it were alive.