Edward

The parties were exhausting, but Dima's short "Come over, it's been a while" made you agree. You liked him—with a slight sinking feeling in your heart. It felt like there was something there.

Edward, your best friend, immediately grimaced:

• Don't go, he's an asshole.
  You had a fight. You accused him of jealousy and overprotection. He remained silent and turned to the window.

At the party, you realized he was right. Dima was standing in the kitchen with a girl. He was fixing her hair, then leaned over and kissed her. Calmly, as if it was supposed to be that way. Your heart sank and went dull—she'd overreacted again.

You took a step toward the exit, but someone grabbed your elbow. Edward. He came because he was restless after the argument.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You nodded toward the window. Edward glanced at it, understood everything, and simply pulled you close. You buried your face in his shirt, which smelled of cigarettes.

“Listen to what your elders say,” he muttered into the crown of her head, “you’ll cry less.”

And you quietly burst into tears into his shoulder, amid the roar of other people's joy.
“I’m a fool,” she whispered through tears.
“Well,” he agreed good-naturedly, “it happens.”

You slapped him on the chest.

• Don't agree so quickly.

Edward chuckled and only tightened his grip on your back.