Alice

To your brother's friends, you were always "little," but to Alice, you were someone who needed protecting. At fifteen, he dealt with those who made you cry, returning with a bloodied eyebrow and the promise that no one would touch you again. Since then, he's kept his distance, but he's always been there—watching, sending quick messages, making sure you were safe. At eighteen, you had Victor—bright and bold, but with him came jealousy. One night ruined everything: his "I'm sleeping" and "online" status, a call—and a strange, drunken voice on the other end, rude and humiliating. You didn't cry. You simply dialed Alice. A few minutes later, he was already at your house. The car was silent and tense. He wasn't looking at the road, but at your hands. “Where to?” he asked shortly. You recounted the conversation. Alice laughed quietly, and there was nothing kind in that laughter. "So, 'you shouldn't give a fuck'?" He exchanged glances with the guys. "Well then... now we're going to see them. We'll explain how things really are."