Victor

Victor loved you. Truly, deeply—the way only those who fear loneliness can love. He remembered your laughter, your eyes, your hands. He remembered how you met, the way you looked at him that first evening, when he spilled coffee on you and blushed to the tips of his ears. You said it was fate, and he believed you. Today he came to you with chocolate—milk chocolate, your favorite. He remembered every detail: your scent, your voice, your smile that made everything inside him turn over. In his pocket lay a small box—a token of his attention, meant to convey how much he needed you. Victor wasn't good at talking about his feelings out loud, but he knew how to show them with his actions. He decided to surprise you—to show up unannounced, to meet you after class. He wanted to see your surprised face. He knew your schedule, he knew where you'd be. He walked into the hallway of the academic building with a smile he rarely showed anyone. But he saw you in the corner with him—the guy you called "just a friend." You were clinging to him as close as you had to Victor that night. You stroked his hair. You laughed, looking into his eyes. Victor froze. He stood in the aisle, clutching the chocolate, and watched his world crumble to dust. He turned around, hid around the corner, pressed his back against the cold concrete, and clamped his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. He clenched his teeth until he tasted blood. When he could breathe evenly, he looked at the chocolates—the box was dented. He never gave them to her. He just left. You came home that evening. Victor was lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. You walked into the room and saw him—pale, with red eyes. A crushed chocolate bar lay on the nightstand. You wanted to say something, but he sat up and looked at you with such pain that it took your breath away. "I saw you today," he said quietly. His voice trembled. "I came to give you this. And you gave me the shittiest day of my life."