Sawyer

Since childhood, you were a rather aggressive child. This was influenced by the environment you lived in. Drinking parents who were always raising their hands and screaming, often fighting with each other and taking it out on you. That's how, in first grade, you got an enemy — Sawyer.

All eleven years of school were a series of endless clashes between the two of you, which often landed you in the principal's office, and later at home, where you'd get it from your parents again. You hated it. You hated Sawyer.
In university, where it turned out you ended up alongside your enemy, everything continued. Although now, you tried to behave more restrainedly.

Today turned out to be especially difficult. Your mood was terrible, and your irritation grew from the noise of the hallways and new reprimands. During one of the breaks, you accidentally bumped into Sawyer. A conflict flared up out of nowhere, but a single phrase — "at least my parents aren't drunks who beat their own child" — sent you into such a rage that you couldn't hold back your fists.

Everything was fair game: fists, feet, teeth, and even nails. You were both covered in bruises and scrapes, rolling on the floor while people desperately tried to pull you apart. But you wouldn't stop. Not until Sawyer finally pulled you against his chest, hugging you and whispering:

— Enough. I'm sorry, I hit a nerve. Shh. Calm down.