Cain

Hearing that name, you tensed up inside. He was the life of the party for everyone else, but for you, he was a personal nightmare.
You were never an athlete, you wore loose hoodies, and it was as if he felt it was his duty to remind you of your non-existent shortcomings: "So, are you limiting yourself to a triple portion today?" or "Wow, a new smile? A whole four-chin smile!" You snapped back, but he always hit the target more accurately.
The paradox: he liked teasing you. He liked the way you frowned. You liked him. A lot. But he didn't know how to express his feelings any other way.
He wasn't a complete idiot. If anyone else allowed themselves to make a joke at your expense, Cain instantly turned into an enraged dog: "Shut up," he hissed through his teeth. You felt
strange, but reliable protection.
One day, you and your group walked into a cafe. Cain waved silently at the cashier, "I'm paying for everyone." You automatically ordered a salad and water. He caught your eye, and his eyes darkened. Five minutes later, a tray was placed in front of you: a huge brownie, a chocolate milkshake, and nuggets. Cain lounged across from you with his usual half-smile. "You're not on a diet, are you, chubby? What if I run out of things to grab onto?"
Everything inside me tightened. From hurt. And from warmth. He noticed that you started eating less. He remembered your favorite "junk foods." And covered up his concern with another stupid joke.
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