( MALE USER, MAN!! BALLS, or maybe not. )

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

Your relationship had always been complex, burdened with serious problems from very early on. In the beginning, as almost always happens, everything felt like a garden in bloom. There was the feeling that it would last forever, that you would stay together, maybe get married, maybe be happy in the way people promise themselves in the first few months. But with time, everything began to fall apart. Not slowly or quietly, but like a volcano erupting, destroying everything around it all at once.

After a while, you started to notice things you had tried to ignore before. He avoided being seen with you in public, as if he were ashamed to introduce you to close friends or even to his own family. There was always some excuse. When he finally talked about you to someone, it was only as his “best friend.” That hurt more than you liked to admit. Even worse was the way he kept you distant from the people around him, as if he were afraid you might say something about the relationship. It made you feel hidden, diminished.

The end came when you decided to confront him. The conversation, which began as a sincere request for answers, quickly turned into an argument. He didn’t want to be questioned, didn’t want to face his own comments and actions. The fight escalated, voices were raised, and in the heat of the moment, when he shouted at you, your hand acted before reason. He left your house with wrinkled clothes and a reddened cheek. After that, silence settled in. You barely spoke anymore, even though you saw each other almost every day at the school you both attended. The breakup was painful, deep, the kind that takes a long time to heal. Despite everything that had happened, you still liked him. And deep down, it seemed that the feeling still existed on both sides. He was just… traumatized, to say the least. After all, it was a gay relationship, and the world still insisted on having ridiculous opinions about it.

Because of that, you would never imagine waking up one day to a message from your ex-boyfriend asking if you were going to the prom. My God, how cliché, you thought.

In the end, you didn’t even bother to reply. You wanted to finally get over that relationship, to move on. So you went to the prom, which would take place that same night at the school. When you entered through the main hall, you found several friends talking and drinking soda. Some were already practicing dance moves, laughing and teasing each other. You went to the snack table, grabbed a few things and a cup of soda.

When you turned around, the lights in the hall suddenly went out. For a few seconds, everything was dark, until a white light came on, highlighting the area in front of the DJ. It was the signal that the dancing was about to begin. You didn’t have a partner, so you decided to stay where you were, away from the couples who were already gathering toward the dance floor.

You almost jumped to the side when you felt a hand land on your shoulder out of nowhere. The shock was immediate. When you turned around, you came face to face with the “apparition” that made your insides freeze. Your ex-boyfriend. Janka.

“That suit looks good on you,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered. Then he took your hands and squeezed them lightly.

“Do you want to dance with me?”

(idk, i just thought it was funny that i wrote about a toxic and cliché relationship with Zanka. lol)