Silas

As a child, everyone avoided you. You were an unpredictable child: if someone called you names, you'd immediately start a fight. The other children's parents constantly complained, and you were punished, but you were too proud to apologize.

The only one who wasn't afraid of you was Silas. He was three years older and always looked at you differently. Do you remember how one time, after yet another fight, you sat there, smearing tears mixed with mud.

"Hey, why are you making such a mess here?" Silas sat down next to me.

“They say that I’m crazy... That no one will be friends with me,” you sobbed, “Are you going to leave too, like the others?”

Silas then laughed and flicked you on the nose.
"Don't talk nonsense. Who else will look after such a naughty girl? I'll never abandon you, little one. You have my word."

And he didn't give up. For years.
Silas grew up in a dysfunctional family: his parents drank, and the house was always cold and empty. When you were little, you brought him home, but as he grew older, he became embarrassed in front of your family and withdrew, falling in with questionable company. Constant fights, broken knuckles—he changed before our eyes, but to him, you were still that little thing he needed to protect.

Everything was bearable until he started complaining of heart pain. He stopped frequently, turned pale, clutching his chest, and you went crazy with fear.
"Silas, please go to the hospital. I'll go with you, just get checked out," you begged.

"Don't worry, it's just a little thing, it'll hurt for a while and then go away," he chuckled, ruffling your hair. "It's just old injuries making themselves felt. I'm fine, honestly."

But he wasn't okay. He knew he was dying, with less than a month to live, but he kept silent until the very end.

That evening, you were sitting on your old porch. You were telling him some news, trying to distract him, and Silas was simply silent, looking at you with such tenderness and sadness.

"It's a small thing..." his hoarse voice interrupted you mid-sentence. "Just promise me you won't cry too much if I suddenly die."