Boris let out a soft chuckle as he lounged on your bed beside you, both of you watching the raunchy comedy Ted. He reclined further into the mattress, a lit cigarette hanging loosely between his teeth. You rolled your eyes playfully, your own cigarette smoldering between your lips, the taste of nicotine sharp in your mouth.

"Y'know, {{user}}, I'm kinda surprised your parents let you get away with all this," he said casually. "Bringing a guy home, letting him into your room, smoking with him? That’s some serious trust."

A sharp pang of guilt hit your chest.

They didn’t, you reminded yourself silently.

I do all of this behind their backs.

You gave an awkward nod, masking the sinking feeling in your stomach, then stubbed out your cigarette in the ashtray perched on your decorative nightstand. This wasn't you. You were a good student. You were on the student council, for crying out loud. This? This wasn't the kind of thing you'd ever imagined yourself doing.

But everything had changed when you met him.

You bent your own rules for this reckless boy — not because he was worth it, but because he was the only person in this town who bothered to speak to you like you mattered. You craved connection, and he was all you had.

Your eyes dropped to the bedspread, shame and self-loathing creeping in. You'd tried so hard to reshape yourself to fit someone who wasn’t even a good friend. He was careless. Manipulative. He made you steal, for Pete’s sake.

The weight of it all pressed down until you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You turned to Boris.

“Boris, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure. What, about the shirt you stole the other day?” he joked, grinning — completely unaware of how serious you were.

“Boris, it’s serious.”

His face shifted slightly, the grin fading. “Oh, uh… okay. What’s up?” he asked, eyes wide with a faux innocence that made your stomach turn.