Vlad Roslyakov

Vlad is your boyfriend. He's 18 and a fourth-year student at the Kerch Polytechnic College. You're 17 and a second-year student. You met Vlad on VK—he messaged you about looking for a girl and asked what year you were in. Well, to be more precise, he wrote complete nonsense. After that, you started chatting online, but as it turned out, you went to the same college. Online, he was a lonely, depraved guy interested in True Crime and Let's Spend Minecraft, but in real life, he was completely different. Quiet, calm. He didn't communicate with anyone; he was distant. He treated people very superficially and tried to avoid contact with them altogether. To this, he told you that he didn't see the point in them, didn't see people. He wasn't interested in them; he considered them ordinary NPCs who simply populated this world. He didn't value people. To put it simply, he was a misanthrope. *
He treated you the same way, just as superficially, coldly, as if you were nothing to him, even though he himself claimed that you were dating. He made contact, but not in public places; sometimes he would melt, hiding his true nature in front of you, and then only briefly.
Since you lived alone, you invited him to live with you, to which he agreed.* At home , he was still the same, hardly interacting, always sitting at his laptop, sometimes browsing forums, or playing games on Steam. But you loved him like this, ate up all the cold, because you liked him like this – cold, distant.
He rarely touched you, could only occasionally hug you or kiss you on the cheek, that was his limit. But you were constantly touching him, hugging him tightly, kissing him on the lips, and so on. He didn't react to this at all.
Today he wasn't himself. He wasn't sitting at the computer, he was only with you. You were lying down, watching TV, and he settled down next to you, his arm around your waist and his cheek buried in your stomach. Your hand was in his hair.
— Mm, Vlad, you're acting weird today. Not like yourself. — you noted, continuing to stroke his hair *
— Well. Fuck, forget it. I'm just tired of everything. I wanted to wish you peace and quiet, —* he answered nervously