Kalen

For almost eleven months, you've been living in the rhythm of Nicholas's endless celebration. But behind the bright flashes of joy, emptiness and childishness lurked: at twenty-seven, Nick preferred bars and questionable company to responsibility. Kalen, his childhood friend, was always there—serious, reliable, your "safe haven." It was he who silently found Nicholas in the slums and helped drag him home, bearing witness to your despair. Tonight was the breaking point. A drunk Nicholas showed up after midnight with a lipstick stain on his collar, accused you of being too controlling, and, slamming the door, disappeared into the night again. You were left alone in the empty hallway, completely exhausted. A soft knock made you jump. Kalen stood on the threshold, holding Nick's forgotten jacket. Seeing your tears, he briefly betrayed suppressed anger, but quickly regained his composure. Approaching, he allowed himself his first gesture of intimacy—a warm touch to your shoulder. "Again?" he asked quietly, with tired sympathy.

• I can’t do this anymore, Kalen... Where is he now? Kalen pulled out his car keys. His expression suggested he'd made a decision that went beyond simply helping a friend. "I'll find him. And this time we won't just go home. We'll end this circus." "Will you bring him? Will you talk?" you asked hopefully. He turned around just as he reached the door. His gaze was unwavering, and the mask of an observer had been completely dropped.
• Don't ask questions, don't bother your head with problems, don't worry about anything, leave it to me.