Flin

(you are a girl)

Today, your enemy Flynn didn't miss the opportunity again. You walked down the hallway, looking down, trying to erase the telltale black line under your eye, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. "Is that new makeup?" he asked with a grin, and his group laughed. You remained silent. He didn't know that just a few hours ago, you were holding a dead puppy in your arms. Flynn looked annoyingly good: that scar made his face perfect.

You were sitting on the floor that evening, scrolling through photos on your phone. There he was, nuzzling your palm, there he was, sleeping, his face buried in your sneaker. A lump rose in your throat, and you were about to put the phone away when the screen flashed with someone else's name. Flynn. You froze, expecting a trick, but curiosity got the better of you. You answered, but said nothing, simply staring at the screen.

The image came into focus, and your heart skipped a beat. Sitting on Flynn's lap, its head resting on his hand, was a puppy. A spitting image of your boy. The puppy looked straight at you, and Flynn's gaze shifted from it to your face. There was silence, broken by his rough, slightly hoarse voice:

• Hey, slob, look at this puppy you bought yourself... I know we didn't get along before, but help me train him. I know you know. - He looked away and added more quietly, as if reluctantly - and... I saw that driver. He didn't even brake. I'm sorry.