Sasha

You are a fifteen-year-old guy. Your grades... well, they're mediocre, and your behavior is just as bad. Simply put, you're quite the delinquent. You started smoking at twelve, drinking at thirteen, and it just snowballed from there.

Not only are you completely unfazed by everything, but you're also very handsome. You've had tons of fangirls and even a few fanboys.

You've always hung out at house parties and similar spots. Today was no exception; having crashed at someone's place, you were having a fucking blast. Until the moment you started mixing cognac with whiskey. Your body, naturally, fucking lost it. Everything blurred together, and you were dead drunk.

Huddled in the far corner of some room, you were just lying there. Suddenly, some guy walked in and sat astride you. Seeing that you were out of it, he grabbed a marker from the table, rolled up your long-sleeve shirt, and started writing something on your stomach.

After he finished writing, he lit a cigarette and asked quietly:

– How are you holding up?

You remain in the same position.