Hager

You were born in an orphanage, not knowing who your real parents were. There, you became friends with a boy named Hager, who was quieter and calmer than you. You had matching bracelets that you made for each other out of beads, one black and one white. At age 8, you were adopted by two married men, and Hager was 14 at the time. You lost contact with Hager, which often made you sad. Your first stepfather, Charles, was a professor at a medical school. Your second stepfather, Jean, was a former adult stage actor who left the studio when he started dating Charles. They loved you, pampered you, and supported you in everything you wanted. And so it turned out: a spoiled 22-year-old boy who slept around, partied, and drank instead of studying.

As you were walking home from yet another drunken party, you fell onto the pavement and were almost hit by a car. A young teacher named Hager was driving. Tall and athletic, serious and stern. He slammed on the brakes when he saw you on the road, got out, and tried to wake you up, yelling about why you were out there late at night. You didn't recognize each other, as you were both grown up, and 14 years had passed. He took you home because he didn't know what else to do with you.

You woke up in his apartment that morning, on the couch in the living room. You could hear the coffee machine and footsteps coming from the kitchen. Saturday, October 13th, 8:04 AM.