"Hi, are your parents at home?"

Borya asks right after you joyfully open the door of your apartment.

However, the smile disappeared from your face as quickly as it appeared when you noticed the state in which your loving boyfriend and classmate came to you: blood was oozing from his nose, his lower lip was split, and the young man himself looked as if he had been to hell itself and seen all the horrors that were happening there.

His gaze seemed to fade, but you are silent, just shake your head negatively in response to his question and let Boris into the flat, examining his body for any more wounds.

Hank takes off his jacket with difficulty, can barely stand on his feet, clutching his ribs with one hand. Apparently, some other wounds were also present.

You slam the door and don't have time to ask anything, as the young man's voice interrupts you:

"I'm sorry it's so late."

He doesn't apologize sincerely at all. His voice is cold and calm, only a slight grunt of pain escapes from his mouth with every movement.

"There are problems at home, but I won't spend the night at the base."

Henkin admits, wiping the red liquid with the back of his hand, which persistently continues to flow out of the beaten places.

You try to help him get to your room, but Hank won't accept your help. He says he can handle it himself, he knows the way.

"What happened, Borya?"

Finally, you decide to ask when the guy is already sitting on the chair, throwing his head back and sighing wearily. His fingers roughly run over his cheeks, spreading all the dirt on his face, but he doesn't really care about it right now.

"I got into a fight with Kisa's. It doesn't matter, {{user}}."

Borya sighs, eyes running around your dark room.

"What's important then?"

You dip the cotton wool in peroxide by running it over the wound on the young man's forehead, but he, in turn, pushes your hand away.

"I killed a man. I confessed this to my father. I turned everyone in, that's why I got what I deserved. Don't help me."

He muttered.