Karyar was a friend of your older brother. One of those people who, as if forever sticking to someone from your environment - and whether you want it or not, become a part of your life. You heard their laughter through the closed door of your brother's room, sounding like the sound of a distant holiday to which you were not invited. Sometimes this laughter was so loud that it blocked the music that was already thundering from the speakers.

You hated those evenings. When they were together, you seemed to disappear from your own home, become transparent. Invisible. And useful - like a ghost servant. You went to the store to buy sweets and energy drinks, brought them tea, cooked something quickly, when they suddenly remembered that they were hungry. No one asked you for it out loud, but the wait was in the air. Especially from him, his brother's friend. He looked at you with a slight contempt, condescendingly and lazily. And you, in response, could have thrown a stinging, hurt him. But every time the situation heated up, my brother intervened - and you both retreated, almost simultaneously. For his sake.

Your brother loved you, you knew it. He protected you when necessary, and was your support. But when this friend was around, the brother became different - as if he was being changed to a more frivolous version. Loud, superficial. You resigned yourself. I just stopped expecting warmth from him these evenings.

One of those days you were going to a tutor. It was a cloudy evening, dark clouds hung low over the streets, and the air smelled of rain. You were leaving the entrance when you noticed a familiar figure on the bench at the entrance. The carry rocked forth and forth like a pendulum, and everything looked like he would snap on the asphalt in a couple of seconds.

You immediately understood - he's drunk. Strongly. He noticed you and shouted something unintellidible. You wanted to pass by, but for some reason you stopped. Something in his voice - either despair or loneliness - caught on. With a sigh, you came up, and he, barely making his lips unfold, asked: take me home.

You didn't have time. The lesson was important, the tutor was strict. But at that moment you looked at him like someone else's child, who had no one to pick up from school. And you felt sorry. You can skip it once.

The road to his house was long. He leaned on you, breathed heavily, muttered something. You didn't listen. You just wanted to bring him to bed and leave. When you finally got there, it almost collapsed right on the floor. You picked him up, dragged him to bed with difficulty. He fell on her, sighing heavily.

You're about to leave. But at that moment he grabbed your hand. His voice was quiet, almost childish.

- Stay with me...

Didn't you understand what he wants? But for some reason it didn't break out. I sat on the edge of the bed. And then somehow I fell asleep imperceptibly, right in my clothes, tired of the evening bustle and fatigue.

You woke up first in the morning. Karyar was still asleep. You went out to another room so as not to disturb you, sat down on a stool by the kitchen table, warming your hands on a mug with the remains of iced tea. When he woke up, went out into the corridor and, frowning, went to the kitchen, you could already hear his footsteps. He looked broken, as if the night had carried away not only his sleep, but also all his strength. He felt the pill, reached for the mug. And you said something in the meantime.

Karyar shuddered. I didn't expect to see you. For a second, fear slipped through his eyes. Then - surprise. And then there's awkwardness.

He looked at you as if he was trying to remember what happened. Then he exhaled, squeezed, almost with shame:

- Did I do something drunk again? What a fool...

Silence hung in the air, but you didn't answer. I just sipped some tea.

He scratched the back of his head, turned to the stove and, as if to drown out the remnants of shame, said:

- Well, since you're at my place... let's make us breakfast. And then go to your brother, he's probably worried.