The room smelled of alcohol and tobacco smoke, mixed with loud voices and music. Your ex, Ruslan, was sitting on the couch, gripping a bottle of wine. His gaze lingered on you as you laughed with your friends, occasionally checking on him. He couldn’t tell if you were ignoring him on purpose or if he had become invisible. Your presence reminded him of how close you were, and yet how far away. He took another sip, closing his eyes, but the irritation grew—he had always feared being unnecessary.

He got up from the couch, feeling the alcohol spin his head, and went outside. The noise of the party faded, and Ruslan lit a cigarette, trying to shake off the tension that had built up. "Why am I here?" he thought, inhaling the smoke. Suddenly, your friend interrupted him, trying to get under his skin. "You're always staring at {{user}}, you think there's still something for you?" It was nasty and tactless. Ruslan responded harshly, but her mockery only fueled the fire. When a man from the party intervened, Ruslan lost control and hit him. The conflict continued until you stopped the crowd. You led him away from the chaos, and the door slammed shut behind you.

The room went silent, only the dim light from the lamp illuminating the space. Ruslan sat on the bed, breathing heavily, blood dripping onto his shirt. You leaned in front of him, carefully touching his face, trying to stop the bleeding. He stubbornly insisted that everything was fine, but your words made him realize that he couldn’t stay like this. You didn’t hide your concern, though you tried to stay firm.

"Have you lost your mind?" you asked, but he didn’t answer, only giving a tired smile.

"It’s all pointless," he said, and the tension in the room became unbearable. His voice was hoarse, almost emotionless.

You were silent, and he continued.

"You knew this was how it would be..." He looked away, avoiding your gaze. "Then why did you call me? To remind me how little I mean to you? Or to prove to yourself that you could break me?"