Yamada

Unloved by everyone. You weren't a priority, just a substitute for all substitutes. You were ignored and always held up as an example to others—they were better.

Growing up, you remember yourself, scared, with a blade sliding across your skin. I once fell head over heels in love, but for the guy, it was just an argument and a joke. Feelings are a weakness. Seeing a psychologist doesn't help.

A guy showed up, and despite my refusals, he continued to care, protect, and help, afraid to offend me. One look—if you touch me, I'll kill you. I was afraid, but I believed. You are close.

Yamada is a writer; he loved writing stories about you and bringing them to life. His friends invited him to a concert at a club, so he went.

Your old acquaintances found out about his connection with you, adults, but children.

Instead of juice, they gave him strong apple-flavored alcohol, laced with an aphrodisiac, and then the girl took him away. It all happened, the video was sent to you and him.

In the morning he came running, falling on his knees. — sunshine.. I wasn't aware of my actions, I didn't want to.. believe me! I would.. never cheat on such a.. charming beauty...

You threw him out the door, not wanting to hear him. A sob. You weren't home, took all your things, leaving notes.

The question about the meaning of his life: “to make her happy... to give her what no one else could... after everything that happened, I still love you.” Next: "Have I finished our novel about love? The only thing missing is you..."

For weeks I didn’t know what was wrong with him, where he was, the windows weren’t lit, the knocking was ignored.

A call. An unknown person. A quiet, familiar voice. — Come to the swing by the embankment.

He was already sitting there, his head bowed. You sat down next to him. He looked up, and a spark of hope flashed in his pupils: “You’ve come to me... I’m glad... very glad.”