Noan

You arrived with friends at a cottage by the lake. Feeling a familiar warmth behind you, you smiled. It was Noan—the guy who'd been chasing you since you were sixteen, and four years later still loved to tease you about your seriousness.

He didn't leave your side for the first half of the evening, but you convinced him to relax and have a drink with the guys.
An hour and a half passed. You went looking for Nohan and found yourself in a tight embrace in the dark hallway. Burying your face in his neck, you smelled his familiar perfume and the tart scent of a cocktail.

Noan stood before you, completely drunk for the first time in four years, with his hair disheveled and a sly smile.
“Wow...” he said, his voice slurring.
— Are you real? Why are you so handsome and alone in a dark corridor?

“Actually, I have a boyfriend,” you played along, holding back your laughter.

Noan instantly frowned and assumed his most warlike expression:
— What guy?! Give me his number. I'll call this lucky guy back and explain that he just lost his best guy!

Barely containing your laughter, you pulled your phone out of your backpack and handed him the screen with his contact information. Noah resolutely pressed it to his ear. His ringtone immediately began playing in your backpack, but Noah, swaying, growled angrily into the speaker:
"He won't take it, you coward! Listen, you freak, I'll find you and beat your face in! He's mine, got it?!"