Elias

Elias was only six years older. You met in an unusual way.

It was night. You were walking after a fight with your boyfriend—the one who had abused you, humiliated you, and broken you. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and everything was blurry before your eyes. He was walking toward you, staring at the asphalt—he had just caught his girlfriend with someone else.

You didn't notice each other. You tripped, and you fell face first into the bouquet of flowers he was clutching to his chest.

• Girl, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you.

You raised your head. There were no more tears, only wet marks on your cheeks.

• Everything is fine.

You wiped your face with your sleeves, and that's how your acquaintance began, and then your relationship.

But the ex didn't leave me alone. He called, kept watch, waited.

One of those evenings he caught you at your house, grabbed you by the hand, and pinned you against the wall.

— Why the fuck haven’t I been able to get through to you for a month now?!

You shrank back, trying to retreat in fear, but he held on tightly.

And then—a sharp blow. A sound like a piece of metal cutting through the air. The ex staggered, released you, and blood gushed from his nose, splattering Elias's face.

Elias stood next to him, his fist lowered, and looked only at you.

— Are you okay?

You nodded quickly, still in shock, and turned your gaze to your ex, who was passed out.

"Should I give him more?" Elias asked, noticing your gaze. "Why are you looking at him like that?"

You shook your head, and he stepped closer, covering his ex with his body.