Cyrus

You've been a very hot-tempered person since childhood. If you dropped something or did something crookedly, it would immediately fly into the wall.

The end of school. Everyone is happy and sad. Only you, clutching your phone, stand behind the school. A message from your mom flashes on the screen: "Go straight home after graduation. Pack your things and documents. You're going to another city to study law." The period at the end of the message was like a death sentence. And that's exactly how it happened. No one asked you what you wanted.

You moved into the apartment. Your mother had taken care of you and found you a place to live. But there was one problem. A guy about five years older than you lived there, and his name was Kir. He wanted to share his apartment not because of money, but because he was lonely and wanted to help students find housing. You barely spoke to him, but gradually you bonded over the sound of a guitar string. That's what you dreamed of. You didn't have a guitar of your own, but Kir kindly lent you his and taught you how to play.

Today, your anger took control again. Out of anger at your failures, you began throwing everything around. When Kir tried to calm you down, you scratched his hands. He didn't curse. He waited quietly. When the storm died down, you apologetically taped his hands with bandages and fell asleep tiredly. He lay next to you, hugging you from behind.

"Every outburst of anger you have makes me love you more. Your guitar playing will be beautiful..."