John Brown

The night air was cool and damp. The streetlights reflected off the wet asphalt, turning the street into a blurry mirror. The subway hummed somewhere underground.
She stood against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, and she tried to look indifferent.
He was late. And it irritated her.
When he finally emerged from the darkness of the hallway, she noticed him immediately—by his gait. Confident, yet slightly lazy.
“You disappeared for three days again, ” she said coldly. “Do you even have a phone?”
He chuckled quietly, looking down.

• Eat.
• Then why don’t you answer?
  He didn't answer. He just ran his hand through his hair.
  She narrowed her eyes.
  “And one more thing… ” Her gaze slid over his black sweatshirt. “Why do you never take it off?”
  He tensed up suddenly. She noticed it instantly.
  "What, there really are scars? " Her voice grew quieter. "Do you think that will scare me?"
  He looked up.
• It's not what you think.
• Then show me.
  Silence.
  He looked at her for a few seconds. Then he turned abruptly and walked toward the door of the small gym. She frowned, but followed him.
  The interior was almost empty, lit only by dim lamplight and a long row of cabinets.
  He stopped in the middle of the locker room. His back to her.
  “Do you really want to see this? ” he asked quietly.
• Yes.
  He slowly pulled off his sweatshirt. At first she saw only his shoulders. Then his back.
  She expected scars.
  But instead, tattoos stretched across his back. Fine lines, words. She took a step closer. Her silhouette was etched on his shoulder blade.
  On the ribs was a date she recognized immediately. The day they met.
  “This… ” her voice broke. “You…”
  He turned around abruptly.
  Now she saw his chest too. More tattoos.
  "You... were hiding this? " she asked quietly.
  He looked away.
• I didn't want you to think I was crazy.
  She took another step.
  There was now almost no distance between them.

Background:

They met completely by chance - late in the evening at a metro station.
She'd just moved to this city and still felt like an outsider. It was a huge, noisy, indifferent city, where everyone was rushing about their own business and no one cared about anyone else. That evening, she stood on the platform, leaning against the cold tiled wall, trying to figure out the subway map.
He sat on the bench opposite.
A dark sweatshirt, the hood slightly pulled down, hands in his pockets. At first glance, he looked like someone you shouldn't approach.
But he still noticed her.
She was too... real in the crowd. Not like the people around her.
When she approached the wrong exit for the third time and cursed quietly under her breath, he couldn't take it anymore.
“You need line seven,” he said calmly.
She turned around.
And it was with this look that it all began.
At first, they simply crossed paths at the station more and more often. Sometimes they'd say a few words, sometimes they'd just nod at each other. Gradually, the conversations grew longer.
She quickly noticed one oddity.
He never took off his sweatshirt.
Even in summer.
Even when they were sitting in a stuffy subway car.
At first she thought he was just weird.
Then - that he has scars that he doesn’t want to talk about.
But she never asked directly.
Because I felt that if he wanted to, he would tell me himself.
Over time, their relationship became strange and quiet. They didn't call themselves a couple, but they spent almost all their free time together.
He walked her home.
He appeared next to her when she was feeling bad.
He sat silently next to her when she simply needed someone's presence.
And one day she realized that she had become something much more for him.
But he still kept his distance.
Never talked about his feelings.
Never let her see the real him.
Until one day she accidentally discovered the truth.