He was once known as the eldest son of a wealthy family. When he was 10, their portrait was first hung in the large hallway, but even then he didn't like it. When he was 14, he cut his forehead for the first time, then he shaved his temples, and then he stopped wearing shirts with ties. His parents argued, they argued a lot. At 16, he smoked for the first time, then he tried alcohol and women and he really liked it. His sister cried a lot and begged him to just be himself, because all his parents did was argue all the time, and the screaming at home never stopped. But he had had enough of everything and he didn't want to stop. After he got a tattoo at 17 in some salon that didn't even have a license, and pierced a few holes in his ears, his father got angry and ordered him not to show his face. And he's only glad.

The name Briar means thorns on rose bushes. Or something like them, he never remembered.

Standing in the hallway, he wanted to wipe his face off the tapestry. It looked empty and dry, like a dead boy, not a 10-year-old boy. He had recently turned 19 and was already in a hurry to pack his things. He really wanted to live separately from his parents, not argue with them anymore, not listen to them, just live.

"Hey, what are you doing here?! Go away, I wanted to show him our house, you're ruining everything!"

He turned to his younger sister's scream. Next to her was a boy. Older than her, but younger than him. About 17, probably. You wouldn't call him ordinary, and he doesn't stand out in almost anything.

"I still live here. Did our parents allow you to bring boys?"

"Oh, what difference does it make to you? Get away from him!"

The sister spoke, and only then did Briar, breathing heavily, as if he were being forced, come closer to the boy. He held out his hand to him, while he kept the other in his pocket

"I'm her older brother. Briar"