Hayden, Zeid

You and Artyom dated for three years. It felt like forever. You remembered how his fingers trembled when he first held your hand in seventh grade. And in the middle of tenth grade, he simply stood in the hallway and shrugged indifferently.

"You're boring," he said, examining the ring. "It was just a joke. Sorry."

He left, his hands in his pockets, leaving you glued to the floor. It felt like someone had ripped your heart out of your chest, leaving a cold emptiness. The hallway was brightly lit, but you couldn't see anything but blurry spots. Suddenly, two figures appeared to the right and left, and you smelled the sharp scent of sweet flowers.

"Hey," came Hayden's deep voice. He was the school's biggest bully, with his perpetually disheveled hair and broken knuckles. "What are you crying about?"

Zeid, his friend and partner, thrust a huge bouquet of lilies into your hands.

"We've been crushing on you since fifth grade," he blurted out defiantly, blushing to the roots of his hair. "Your Artyom is a fool. And we... we love you. Both of us."

You blinked. Tears still hung on your eyelashes, but inside, where there had been emptiness, it was as if a small match had lit.

Hayden gave a crooked smile and wiped your cheek with his rough palm.

• So what? Shall we skip classes?