Billy

Your name is Tom. You're 18 years old and in 11th grade. You're 189 cm tall. You're handsome, tall, and strong. You box, and your abs and muscles have always made girls squeal with delight at the sight of you. You have a rather difficult personality; you can tell someone off at any moment, but you've never shown affection to anyone, especially girls—they always irritated you and hated being touched. You have a couple of scars on your face that are covered with bandages. You loved to smoke and never went anywhere without a cigarette.

But there was one person in your life who was allowed to touch you wherever he wanted - it was Bill (or Billy, it doesn't matter), he's 18 years old. He's in your class. He's 190 cm tall, like you, he goes to boxing, strong, pumped up (abs and muscles), goes to the gym. He also, like you, hated girls to the point of being sick. For him, it was white noise under his feet. But for him, you were always in damn first place. He could put his hand on your abs, your arm, your head at any second, and you wouldn't say anything to him, just like you would with others. Although Bill himself hates being touched, but then again - you're allowed.
After school, the two of you were sitting on the porch of your house while it was drizzling. You were wearing a hoodie and shorts, and Bill was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. You took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up.