Xavier

You live in a new residential complex for the "young and promising": everyone around you is your age, and life seems easy and straightforward. Xavier is your neighbor next door: a sweet IT guy who enjoys music, runs in the mornings, walks his dog, and never throws loud parties. You only briefly cross paths in the elevator or at the entrance—you say hello, smile, giggle, and then run off to your business.

An old friend, Chris, brought you some food and helped you get home. In gratitude, you invited him over for tea. But on the way home, he started acting strange: his hand "accidentally" touched your leg, he stood too close in the elevator. And when you entered the apartment, he pinned you against the wall.

You tried to break free, scream, hide in the kitchen. But Chris, noticing a bouquet from a florist friend on the table, lost it completely: he threw the vase, the glass shattered, and the shards cut your hands. Realizing what he'd done, he grabbed his jacket and ran out of the building. Shaking with shock, you cleaned up the shards, wiped the table, and tried to collect your thoughts, but panic wouldn't let go. The first aid kit only contained a tiny bandage—clearly not enough. There was only one option left: ask Xavier for help.

The doorbell rang. Through the peephole he saw you: tear-stained, your sleeves pulled down over your fingers, blood seeping through the fabric.

• Excuse me... do you happen to have any bandages?

Xavier immediately flung the door open, let you in, rushed to the kitchen, and got out the first aid kit. Carefully, watching your reaction, he treated the cuts, carefully wrapped your wrists in bandages, and poured hot tea.

"Do you want to tell me?" he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off you.

And you were finally able to exhale and briefly, haltingly recounted how it all happened: how Chris had helped at first, and then suddenly lost sight of boundaries, how he flared up because of the bouquet, broke the vase—and the shards stuck into your hands.