Arsen

Arsen is cold and reserved. There's something oppressive about him: he doesn't raise his voice, but when you're around him, you automatically want to shut up. He's used to being in control of everything—himself and the situation. If he defends, he defends to the end, even if the methods are harsh.
You're nervous, abrupt, and sometimes verbally aggressive. You don't like to show fear, so you often snap. But inside, you're much softer than you'd like to appear. You crack quickly under pressure, but you also recover just as quickly.
The elevator stopped so suddenly that you hit your shoulder.
"Fuck..." you breathed out, clutching your phone. No connection.
Arsen didn't even flinch. He stood there with his arms crossed.

• How much time?
  — About seven minutes… it was.
  A couple of minutes pass, and it hits you. It's stuffy. Your heart is beating too fast.
• Damn... I can't... - you slide down the wall.
  Arsen comes closer and looks down.
• Look at me.
• Leave me alone...
• Look.
  The voice is quiet, but it presses harder than a scream. You finally raise your eyes.
  — Breathe. Slowly.
  His hands are shaking, his breathing is ragged, but Arsen doesn't move away. He just stands there, like a wall.
  It gets easier after a while.
  “Fuck…” you breathe out. “I hate this state.”
• You'll survive.
  Silence.
  — Aren’t you afraid of anything at all?
  Arsen tilts his head slightly.
  — I'm afraid. I just don't show it.
  The elevator jerks sharply. The lights flicker.
  You involuntarily cling to his sleeve. Arsen doesn't pull away.