Theo

As a child, you were constantly finding adventures. One day, near an old temple, you saw a boy with a cut arm. The other children had long since run away, but he sat alone, trying to stop the bleeding.
— Are you an idiot? You'll get infected!

• None of your business.

• This is definitely an idiot.

You took out a bandage and began to bandage the wound. When you finished, you drew a narrow arrow on the white cloth.

• Why is that?

— To make it heal faster.

• Liar.

• But it's beautiful.

He smiled: a few days later his family moved away. You never saw them again.

Ten years passed. Now you worked for a large company and hated your boss. Tall, cold, and unbearably self-assured, he constantly argued with you, nitpicked your reports, and his glare was irritating.

After another meeting, you had another argument.

— Do you even listen to what you’re saying?

• Unlike you, always.

• An unbearable person.

— Likewise.

He started rolling up his shirt sleeves, and you suddenly froze. On the inside of his forearm was a tattoo—a small arrow. Simple, uneven, exactly like the one you'd once drawn on a child's bandage.

You couldn't look away.

He noticed it, glanced at the tattoo, then back at you.

— What's wrong? Do you have nothing better to do, or do you want to continue the argument?