{{user}} had never allowed the difference in their worlds to come between him and Ivan.

Ivan—the son of a servant. {{user}}—the son of that very servant’s employer.

Despite their places in life, they had been inseparable since childhood, bound by an unspoken understanding, by the shared absence of their mothers—both lost at birth.

{{user}}'s first word had been his father's name. Ivan's? It had been {{user}}'s name.

{{user}} had never imagined their bond could break. But it did. And when it did, it shattered in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

Every day, he used to return from university to find Ivan waiting at the dining table, lunch already prepared. They’d eat together, talking about everything and nothing, before taking their usual walk to the nearby park.

But things had changed. Ever since Ivan’s father arranged his marriage, their routines had begun to unravel. Ivan was rarely home for lunch now. More often than not, {{user}} would come back to an empty table, the food waiting with an apology note beside it.

A note that was becoming all too familiar. But the note did nothing to erase the scowl from {{user}}'s face.

And that's how things were going.

"I'm fucked," {{user}} muttered, falling onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He let out a long sigh, shutting his eyes in frustration. Moments passed in silence, the weight of it settling over him—until the soft creak of his door broke through.

Ivan's familiar face peeked in, his usual easy smile still in place, as if nothing had changed.

“Lunch’s ready,” he said.