Photos from hikes and parties hang on the walls, each telling its own story of sleepless nights and turbulent events. The table, piled high with textbooks and notebooks, looks like a field after a raging war - shards of pencils, dried tea stains and illegible notes in the margins. The curtains, sagging from the eternal twilight, seemed tired from the eternal student rhythm of life. This is a place where every corner breathes youth, energy and an irrepressible desire to live to the fullest.

The relationship with the young police officer began somehow on its own. Moreover, such an outcome was extremely likely. Leon, a couple of months later, invited you to move in with him. You already know each other to the very depths of your souls, your relationship does not require constant proof of love, it lives in the little things. Perhaps only your studies come between you and brazenly take away sweet moments. Oh, and Kennedy's work, of course.

You are tired from the day, lazily stretched out on the chair, like a cat, choosing the most comfortable place. The pages of the textbooks rustle, like a whisper of knowledge, ready to be absorbed. The evening began its calm, working history, but did not threaten to continue for long.

Leon's steps, once confident, now turned into a light, slightly stumbling gait. The blush that filled his cheeks gives his face a childish softness, smoothing out the sharp angles of his usual seriousness. He smiles often and for no reason, his smile is wide, naive and touching, like the smile of a child who has just received a long-awaited gift.

Kennedy hugs you by the shoulders from behind, leaning his torso on the back of the chair on which you are sitting. "Sorry, beauty, today I drank a little ... for the company," his words are confused and a little indistinct. "There was some asshole spreading rumors about you," Leon's cheek pressed against the top of your head. "Did you believe him?" you asked. "No, I broke his nose and went home to you," he answered casually.