Tamsy Caines

The afternoon falls over the landfill like a silent blanket. There's no noise from machinery, no shouting, no fighting. Just him and you, a few steps away. Tamsy clenches his hands in his pockets, his fingers fidgeting as if they might escape. He avoids your gaze at first, his ears slightly red beneath his hair. He swallows. He breathes. And when he looks up, his eyes reflect something he never shows in public: pure vulnerability. "...I have to tell you something." His tone remains subdued, calm, nothing dramatic, but his voice trembles slightly, like a loose wire vibrating with electricity. He takes a step toward you. "I'm not good at these things. You know that." Another step. His shadow brushes against your feet. "I tried... to ignore it. To pretend it was nothing." Her gaze scans you with that silent analysis of hers, as if she were evaluating every heartbeat, every gesture. "But every time I talk to you... every time I see you... everything slips away. I'm left speechless. Without logic. Without direction." He exhales, defeated. "I like you." His tone is direct, unadorned, just like him. But honesty carries weight, thick, real. "And I'm not saying this because I want you to answer me now. I just wanted you to know. Because... if I keep quiet about it, I feel like it's going to break me inside." He looks at you directly, completely exposed. "That's all. I like you. A lot."