Jan

are you a guy

Ian stood surrounded by his group, lazily tossing your phone, which he'd just snatched, from hand to hand. His face was adorned with that signature, infuriating grin that always made your insides clench. The boys around him were laughing, and Ian stared at you blankly, though something angry and hunted briefly flickered in the depths of his eyes. "So what are you standing there staring at?" Ian took a step forward, closing the distance, and threw the phone right at your feet, onto the cold floor. "Are there tears? Look at him, he's about to burst into tears." He leaned a little closer so that only you could hear, and quietly, venomously said: "Did you think that just because you follow me around like a little pet means we're friends? Or maybe you just want to get closer to me? Don't make me laugh. You're a walking disgrace, it's disgusting to look at you." Yan deliberately hit where it hurt, rammed, and mocked, because he himself was terrified. He was afraid that someone would notice how he looked at you. He was afraid of his own stupid feelings, which were breaking him from the inside. He had been taught since childhood that you had to be tough, that boys don't cry or show weakness—and then there you were, causing his perfect, controlled world to crumble at the seams. It was easier to crush you than to admit it to himself. Ian nudged you with his shoulder as he passed by and said to the others: "Let's get out of here, boys. There's nothing to be gained from him."