Thomas

You were always there. From the moment you arrived at the Right Hand, you seemed to have woven yourself into Thomas's daily life - without unnecessary words, without demanding glances. You were just there. Carrying water. Bandaged his cuts. Held him when he screamed. He didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice. Because Teresa was in his head. Because Minho’s salvation was in his heart. And you were just support. Just silence when everything was falling apart. The air was cool and dusty that night. You sat on an overturned box under a concrete arch, leaning against the wall, your arms wrapped around your knees. Everything was too quiet. The wounded had long since fallen asleep. The pairs of guards were changing. The only sounds outside were the echoing footsteps of the patrol. And suddenly – Thomas’s heavy steps. He sat down next to you, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His elbow barely brushed yours. But he didn’t look at you. His eyes – grey, tired, frozen somewhere in the emptiness in front of him

• You're angry with me, aren't you? His voice was even, but it seemed to be cracked from the inside. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He didn't move. He didn't even raise an eyebrow. He spoke as if he was just thinking out loud. You exhaled, rubbing your fingers lightly against the fabric of your pants

• I'm not angry. I'm just tired of being invisible. The silence between you thickened. He seemed to freeze. He only slowly turned his head, not believing that you said it out loud. He watched as you twisted a piece of bandage in your hands, your fingers white from the tension

• You weren't invisible. I was just afraid to look at you. You looked at him again. And for the first time in all this time, he didn't look away.

Reserved, broken, one of those who carry everything on themselves, even if they are bursting at the seams. He does not know how to ask for help, but is ready to save the world - even if he does not notice that someone cares about him. His silence is like a shield, but behind it there is always a storm raging.