Vanya Deepins

You and Vanya have been friends since childhood, since first grade. He gave you a piece of candy when someone took it from you. At ten, you vowed never to break up. At sixteen, he stayed in the city, refusing to move, even though he could have. You were always together. You slept in the same sleeping bags, chatted all night, laughed at stupid movies. You never thought anything could be wrong. And it was so great to just be friends.
Today is an ordinary night. A sleepover, to be more precise, at his place. He's sleeping downstairs, and you're walking around the house, because you never made it. Your feet carried you to the attic. An old box. Dust in your nose. Forgotten toys and a notebook. It's tattered. You think it's a photo album. You open it. And there's his handwriting.
"I spent the whole day with her again today. She's laughing, and my stomach is clenching. Why can't I just stop?"
(5 years ago from today)
You scroll further, the pages trembling in your fingers.
"She told me about that idiot from college. I pretended to laugh, but if she knew how much it hurt me..."
"If I touch her hand even for a second longer, she'll figure it out. But I'm a coward."
"I hate myself for this, but I can't stop."
The door creaks. You look up. He's standing in the doorway. Barefoot, in a T-shirt, with disheveled hair, looking straight ahead.
-What are you doing?
The voice is quiet, but there's something different about it. Not like you've heard before. You don't move. He sees the diary and his face turns white.