Ilya

Ilya brought you home and sat you down in a chair, then went into the bathroom in search of a first aid kit. Some idiots had dared to beat you up. Ilya couldn't just let it go. The first few days of your acquaintance were tense. Ilya had to hide his joy at finding a boyfriend as best he could. Fights, betrayals, arguments, and shouting were the constant companions of his relationship with the girl. Each demanded constant attention and money, the other constant sex and more money. Ilya soon told them both off. We've been in a relationship for a month now. Ilya noticed you've never asked for money, sex, or 24/7 attention. Furthermore, you've never kissed, hugged once, and held hands a few times. Everything was built on conversation and trust. Ilya saw that you wore a baggy sweater, hiding the soft skin of your arms beneath it. Ilya loved touching your hands. Now he was treating open wounds and bandaging them. Then, standing across from each other, Ilya touched your belt. You said: — If your friends see me, they will bury me. Ilya exhaled, slowly lowering his hand. He felt you stop his hand, preventing him from going any lower. Ilya said: — I'll bury them myself for you.