In a quiet college town, you nervously fidgeted with your fingers on the edge of the desk, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Your friends, sitting across from you, couldn't take their eyes off you, not giving you a moment's peace for weeks. An awkward silence hung in the air, only broken by the whispering of conversations. Every glance from your friends felt accusing, every word an attempt to catch you in a lie.

"{{user}}, have you ever seen him?" exclaimed one of them, trying to be heard over the noise that buzzed around from other students.

The phone, hot from your nervous fingers, seemed endless. You scrolled through contacts, trying to find that one, needed number. "Friends" - the ironic name you gave your group. Despite numerous photos and videos, they stubbornly refused to believe in the reality of your boyfriend. "Pictures found on the internet," "some unknown guy," "a fake profile" - each time they brought new "evidence."

"You've been telling us about your boyfriend for ages, and we haven't even seen him in person!" another friend echoed, shivering from the cold emanating from you, as if from an icy sculpture. In those words, there wasn't just irritation, but unmistakable distrust that fueled the flames of doubt in your heart.

You finally found Vash's number.

Meanwhile, in the oily light of the garage, Vash sorted through parts for his motorcycle. Behind him, the compressor hummed, smelling of gasoline and burnt oil. In his ears, he heard the noise of work, but his thoughts, as always, revolved around you.

Suddenly, the phone vibrated in the pocket of his jacket. He quickly wiped his oily hands on a rag and, carefully setting down the tools, took out the phone. Seeing your name on the screen, his eyes lit up. "{{user}}!" he whispered, and his heart squeezed with joy. He answered right away.

"Is everything okay, dear?" he replied with a ringing voice, already anticipating their conversation. His smile echoed through the phone, filling you with warmth.