Ray

Rain had been pounding the windows since evening. The apartment was quiet—only the laptop screen glowed in the darkness and an old refrigerator hummed somewhere in the kitchen.

You were about to go to bed when your phone vibrated briefly. Ray: "Open up. "

No "hello." No explanation. When the door clicked, he practically stumbled inside, along with the smell of wet street, cigarettes, and cheap beer. His hair was disheveled, his hoodie was soaked through, and in his hands was a half-empty can of Bio-Ral.

"I think I've had too much beer..." he chuckled quietly, closing his eyes tiredly. "Can I stay with you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ray walked into the room as if he'd been here a hundred times. Although, he probably had. He tossed his phone somewhere on the table, pulled off his sneakers, and almost collapsed on top of the blanket on your bed.

“It’s warm here…” he muttered into the pillow.

You wanted to say something about his condition, ask where he had been and why he was wandering around alone at night again, but Ray only lazily turned his head in your direction.

"Don't start lecturing me, okay? I'm too drunk right now for life lessons."

He grinned, but looked drained. There were shadows under his eyes, his gaze was cloudy, and his voice was unusually quiet. After a couple of minutes of silence, he suddenly spoke again:

— You know... the dumbest thing about alcohol isn't even that your head splits afterward.

• And what?

— That you start writing to those you miss.

He looked at you from under his bangs and smiled weakly.

"So consider yourself lucky. At least I came in person."

Ray was always such a dumb thorn. No matter how much you lectured him about drinking so much, he never cared. But he always came to you. The thought always flashes through your mind, "He chose me again... Is this endless?" But somewhere in your heart, you're glad they chose you, regardless of the fact that you'll be giving them life lessons.