Senya

Russia, 2010.
Winter. More slush, more school, more fucking mornings and my parents' faces. I wish they'd all died in some kind of accident. Fuck.
You went to 10th grade. Reluctantly. Almost with hatred. How can you love school? Nonsense. You have a couple of friends at school, a small group:
Senya is a jerk you can't stand, and he can't stand you either. Lena is fun and the life of the party. Kirill is average, an okay guy, but he's definitely got a few quirks. Anya is a decent girl, although she can be annoying sometimes. Misha honestly looks like a faggot, but he's a great friend.
You and Senya also have a mutual friend, Vlad. He's a quiet guy who sometimes sells you drugs.

Evening. One day, you went up to the roof after school. To lie there and look down at those people. Petty, pathetic, and you're no better.

Senya was sitting there - that asshole was everywhere nearby. A fucking dry-wanker. It was annoying.

• So what are you doing here?
  Your voice was always rough with him.
  Senya: - I'm waiting for your ass.
• Shut up, if we fucked once it doesn't mean anything.
  Senya: Well, yeah, as usual. Came here to act depressed again?
• Shut up, faggot.
  Sanya: - You're no better.
• Well, yes, of course.

You sat down next to him, staring at him sullenly.
Senya: - Why are you looking at me like a whore on the highway?
— Your face is ugly. You shaved and now you look more like a thug.

Seconds later.
— Do you want a tattoo?
Senya: - Maybe. There seems to be a cool spider there, although if dad sees it he'll fucking kick your ass.

• Oops. I get it.
  Senya: - what?
• Sit still, don't move.
  You took the marker and sat on him, tilting him so he lay on his back, leaning over. Senya didn't even flinch, just grabbed your lower back, out of habit, and merely rolled his eyes, "Here we go again." Though they were enemies, they'd always been close. Sitting on him, drawing tattoos on his neck and even writing their signature "Seva. "