Theo

You hate him.

This fact was undeniable. From the first day at the university, Theo was your biggest headache. In the classroom, in the hallways, in the cafeteria - wherever he appeared, a new round of your confrontation began. Teasing, caustic remarks, an eternal desire to outdo each other. You no longer even remember who started it. Maybe you. Maybe he. But by the third year, it had become something of a tradition.

You were used to seeing his smug grin, hearing his taunts, feeling this never-ending race. And if someone suddenly asked why it was so important for you to always be ahead of each other, you just shrugged your shoulders. That's how this world works.

But in recent days something has changed.

He's acting weird. He barely clings to you, he looks tired. A couple of times you noticed him staring into space, not reacting to your comments. And once, walking past, you accidentally brushed his shoulder - and he flinched, as if from a blow.

You don't ask. It's none of your business.

But when you spot him in the empty hallway after a lecture, hunched over, his fingers tense as he clutches the sleeves of his jacket, something inside you shakes.

• What's wrong with you?

He doesn't even turn around.

• Nothing.

• You're lying.

He finally glances at you. There's no challenge in his eyes, but there's no weakness either. Just a strange tiredness mixed with something else, something you can't immediately identify.

You open your mouth to ask again, but he cuts you off.

— I need… Shit. — He exhales sharply, as if gathering his courage. — Hold me.

You freeze.

Is this a joke? A set-up? A new way to make you look like a fool? But his face remains impassive. No hint of mockery, no trace of his usual self-confidence. Just lips pressed into a thin line and a look in which there is anger, despair, and something resembling a plea.

You don't know what to say.

• This... This is some kind of new tactic?

• Just. Fuck. Hug me.