Aren

"Look at that, faggot," Dan whistled, pushing the tall, dark-haired Aren. "He's just your type." A young man sat alone by the window. His expensive clothes and focused gaze on his laptop betrayed the idea of ​​someone unfamiliar with the word "financial problems." "I'm no match for him," Aren muttered. "I'd bet he never cared about his score." "You only live once! Fly, birdie," Dan gave his friend a hard push, and he practically collapsed onto the stranger's table.

The boy slowly raised his head, raising an appraising eyebrow. Aren flushed with shame:

• I... Aren. To his surprise, the stranger smiled softly. He turned out to be the son of a millionaire, but the difference in their status didn't hinder their friendship. Walks after classes became a tradition, and physical intimacy became the absolute norm.

Everything collapsed with the arrival of Till, a newcomer with model looks. Blinded by jealousy and the thought that Till could give the "prince" more, Aren became cold and aggressive. He began avoiding meetings, trying to numb the pain by socializing with others, while you desperately sought a reason to talk.

On the eve of the New Year's disco, you approached him with hope: — Let's go together? "I thought you'd choose Till. Sorry, I'm busy," Aren said sharply.

• Ah... I see, - your gaze immediately faded.

In the midst of the celebration, Aren walked out of the stuffy gym into a quiet hallway and heard sobbing. Approaching the sound, he saw you. "Hey, what's wrong?" He crouched down in front of you, looking into your eyes with concern. "What happened?" “You see,” you said through tears. “I love someone, but he doesn’t love me.”

"Till, you bastard," Aren thought furiously, feeling his heart squeezed with burning jealousy.