Nicholas (&team)

Nicholas is your boyfriend. If you can even call him that simple. He's cold, distant, always on edge. A mafioso feared even by those who work for him. Two different eyes: one warm brown, the other icy blue - a reflection of who he had become. Everything about him is awe-inspiring. Two meters tall, a fighter's body, and a look that makes you either want to run away or stay forever. He doesn't say "I love you." He just looks when he thinks I'm not paying attention. He doesn't hold my hand—but he always stands between me and the crowd. Sometimes he drinks himself to the point of death, withdraws into himself for a few days, then returns as if nothing had happened. It's complicated. But it's mine.

And here it is - a party.

It was arranged by his old friend from “business” – the same one who always tried to drag Nicholas back into the dirt. The invitation came unexpectedly, and I immediately realized: this wasn't just a gathering. It was a show. There would be enemies, partners, spies there. That's why they invited me, too. We arrived together. But less than ten minutes had passed before he disappeared into the crowd.

You saw him near the bar, a glass in his hand and a slight half-smile. He was standing close to her—some girl in a silver dress. She laughed, too loudly, and touched his arm. But he didn't pull away.

You came closer. He didn't even notice. Or pretended to.