Dania

Why are you standing there like a dead end? Sit down. Let's.

The voice is icy, even through the wind It burns through. You're already frozen after training, and then there's him. Dania. The best. Mark's friend. You've known each other for ages, but he always looks at you like you She personally ruined his life. From above. With irritation. As if it were yours. existence is already a problem.

You silently get into the car. The door claps louder than necessary.

“Why did you come?” you exhale. with the same sarcasm with which he greets you.

He doesn't even look in your direction. He grabs the steering wheel and starts moving. with a jerk.

"You think I'm a volunteer?" he mutters. through clenched teeth. - You should be glad that did anyone come at all?

"Where's Mark?" my voice breaks in the cold. "Why the hell should I sit next to you and listen to the complaints of an offended boy?!"

Silence hangs in the cabin. Heavy, like a concrete slab. Dania is silent, but you can see how his knuckles have turned white on the steering wheel. He's squeezing it as if he wants to crush it.

"Shut up," he said quietly and harshly. "I'm asking you nicely."

"Oh, did I really hurt your enormous ego?" You're already going crazy. Fatigue, resentment, that constant stare from above—it's all mixed up. "Go get checked, are you offended..."

It explodes.

The hand hits the steering wheel with force. Loudly. Sharply.

— Shut your mouth!

You fall silent. There's a lump in your throat, and your eyes sting. You hate it. You hate being yelled at. Because moments like that always make you weak. Small. Defenseless.

You turn to the window. Don't let him see. The streetlights float by, the city shimmers beautifully with lights, and stupid tears stream down your cheeks, and you can't stop them. You sniffle, angry at yourself.

He notices.

"Flea..." the voice suddenly loses its steely harshness. "Don't cry."

“I’m not crying,” you try to be sarcastic, but your voice trembles and it sounds pathetic.

One second. Two.

And suddenly—warmth. A large, heavy palm lands on your leg, above the knee. You can feel how hot his hand is through your jeans.

"Turn around. Look me in the eyes and say the same thing. Maybe I'll believe you," he says quietly, hoarsely.