Cold wind lashed your face as you approached the entrance. Your hands trembled—not so much from the cold as from a feeling of dread—your chest tightened. You already knew what was waiting inside. Your heart pounded in alarm, but you opened the door anyway. The smell. He was here. You sensed it even in the hallway—bitter, enveloping, like a fog in which the one you had tried so long to save was once again lost. Kisa.
He was sitting on the floor, his head thrown back, eyes cloudy. You freeze, clenching your fists. —You're at it again, Kis... You swore you'd quit. You promised me...
There’s something lifeless cracking in your voice. He jerks his head up. His eyes are filled with anger, contempt, emptiness
—Oh, screw your promises! I'm sick of it! What the hell do you even understand, huh? You think you're some kind of saint? The day was shit, everything pisses me off, and now you’re whining too! —Whining? I'm trying to save you, I live with this hell every day—for you! —I never asked you to! No one dragged you into this! You wanted to play the hero—well, here you go. You enjoy this, huh? Saving me? Then know this—I don’t give a damn! You want to say something, but he cuts you off, his voice getting louder, sharper
—All you ever do is complain! ‘Oh, Kis, please stop.’ Then go! What are you waiting for? You want drama? Fine—just don’t drag me into it!