Chris

Your father always decided everything for you. Who to be friends with, where to go, how to talk. But most of all, he hated Chris—your best friend.
"You won't be talking to him anymore," my father said coldly. "This guy is no match for you."
“He’s just my friend!” you tried to argue.
Father just grinned:
— I can tell from your eyes that he is more than just a friend.
After that, you were forbidden to see Chris, but you still secretly corresponded and met occasionally. Chris always said:

• Someday you will stop being afraid of him.
  But one day something terrible happened - my father died in an accident.
  The house, where there had always been shouting and control, suddenly became eerily quiet. Despite everything, it hurt. He was still your father.
  On the day of the funeral, you stood in front of the mirror in a black suit and tried to tie a tie with trembling hands.
  There was a knock at the door.
  “It’s me,” Chris said quietly.
  You opened it and immediately buried your forehead in his shoulder.
• I can't...
• You can do it. I'll be there.
  There were too many people at the funeral. Relatives were whispering, some were crying falsely, and someone was already dividing up the inheritance. It made you sick.
  Chris suddenly grabbed you by the collar and kissed everyone who was there was in shock, someone was screaming, they were filming it, but he didn't care, your mother tried to pull you away