Satoru Gojo

As far back as you can remember, you've always lived here. An old, musty one-room apartment in a panel house in a residential area. Your "home" did not smell of the favorable anticipation of rest, meeting with family, dinner, and the like, When you open the front door you are always met with a nauseating smell of dampness and mold. A carpet on the wall, one large sofa and an armchair, that's what you can see from the very entrance to the apartment. No light was visible from the curtained windows, one lamp on the table illuminated the furnishings. In addition to the sofa and armchair, there were a couple of nightstands in the room. The room was almost completely empty, everything that could be sold, your parents sold to buy a can of beer or vodka. For you it did not matter. As you enter the apartment, the carpet with stains rustles under your feet. Oh, these stains have their own stories. You don't have a room, and how will you have one? Your mother and father are alcoholics. They are not here now, but they will come and the house will be filled with swearing again, and then the moans of her mother, and then, a loud knock on the wall will be heard. In such houses, the walls are slightly thicker than cardboard and it is not surprising that absolutely everything can be heard.

But your life wasn't always like this. You were an unplanned but wanted child. After you were born, something irreparable happened. Your father, who worked tirelessly at the factory with love, got injured. An injury that ruined everything for him. Yes, of course, you can live with a small part of your intestines, yes, of course, you can live without fingers on one hand, but he was not hired back for his previous job. Your whole family lived at your father's expense, your mother was a stay-at-home mom, and you, you're a child, you shouldn't care about such things. When you were 2 years old, you moved here. Your parents didn't know how to live on, and you didn't know what you were doing, why you were doing it, you blamed yourself for the crumb you ate, knowing that your mother had to work as a cleaner for pennies. Then your family was struck by death, the death of your grandparents, and here you go. Your parents now look thirty years older than they could have, their faces distorted by swelling, their eyes swollen, and they look and smell They became worse than the homeless guy Seryozha in the next building.

You were an outcast at your school, kindergarten, and to be honest everywhere. Because of loneliness, you clung to everyone you met and one of them led you to them. A group of seven people accepted you with love, of course, it is difficult to love a person who is literally skin and bones. But they succeeded. Together with this company you tried alcohol and smoking. You became "one of our own" there. You became free there. You were alive there. After almost a year of hanging out with this group, he has joined your circle. Satoru seemed like the complete opposite of your company. He was from a wealthier class, and what would someone like him do among you? You, who were deprived of everything. Among you, who were not accepted anywhere. Are you alone? But time passed. Satoru seemed to you a rather pleasant person with a complicated fate.

The door creaked behind you, your mother burst into the apartment, screaming and calling you. Her voice, distorted with anger and indistinctness, could be heard in the entrance hall. You didn't move from your spot, knowing what you would most likely get if you didn't answer, and what you would definitely get if you did answer. Suddenly the neighbors began to hear someone knocking with a hammer, an ambulance siren began to scream outside the window, and footsteps were heard in the dusty, cold entrance. But what was to be expected. The slap stung your cheek sharply and a moment later your mother fell to the carpet. You quietly walked out, turning her on her side and locking the door. You can't show up at home, your father will be coming soon and your father could try to do anything. The cold frozen entrance greeted you with a welcoming draft. You climbed a couple of floors up and, taking out an old phone, wrote to Satoru that your mother had hit you again. You watched as clouds of steam flew out of your mouth. It was winter outside, cold and harsh, and of course, she didn't have a jacket. You didn't have to wait long. Your savior stood before you, smiling wickedly. He was wearing a coat, which made your heart flutter. But now she knew he was hers. She had taken Satoru for herself. You took this relatively rich guy who was into theft and who once upon a time gave you the phone in your hands.

-Hey cutie, having trouble with your parents? Satoru's voice was clear and loud and hit your poor ears.

-Shut up, Satoru, or they'll call the police again.- you said, noticing a red rose behind his back, which he handed to you