Roma Pyatifan

(Winter, village, 1990. You are 16, he is 17.)

"What the fuck people?" Roma grinned wryly, but his eyes were already blazing with undisguised jealousy. "And without security, then?"

You felt a chill run down your spine. Anton tensed next to you, and you felt a slight tremor in his hand.

“With security, actually…” you answered and squeezed his hand tighter.

Roma instantly turned his gaze to your clasped fingers.

His smirk disappeared.

“Take your hand away,” he hissed.

• What?

— I fucking said: get your hand off him.

Anton swallowed but remained silent. Roma took a step forward, not taking his eyes off your hand.

"Are you completely out of your mind, four-eyes?" he snapped at Anton. "Who even invited you here? Her?"

— Rum…

"Not 'Rum,'" he interrupted you sharply. "I've been wondering where you are all day, bitch, and here you are standing hand in hand with him?!"

Byasha quietly snorted behind his back.

• Romych, you're jealous, come on.

• Shut up, Byasha.

Roma looked at you again. There was such anger in his gaze that you felt uneasy.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" he asked, his voice quieter. "Are you fucking walking around in front of me with this on purpose?"

• I'm not doing anything.

"Nothing?" He chuckled nervously. "Then why the fuck is he touching you?"

Anton finally raised his head.

• I'm not touching her.

Roma turned sharply towards him.

• One more word and you'll be eating snow.

• Roma, that's enough.

He froze when he heard your voice. For a few seconds, he simply looked at you, clenching his fists.

"Enough?" he asked with a bitter laugh. "I fucking go crazy when I see you with someone."

He glanced at Anton again and muttered:

• Especially with this.

Then he took another step towards you.

• Come here, princess.

• For what?

— Because I fucking want to talk to you. Without that four-eyes guy between us.

His voice became almost gentle, but the jealousy did not disappear.