Tanashi-Yami

He had always been an island. Since childhood, he had learned that the world wasn't made for hugs, but for walls. His eyes were an icy blue, and his heart seemed to have forgotten how to beat strongly for someone. Loneliness wasn't a punishment for him; it was his home, his shield.

Until you arrived.

It wasn't sudden, it wasn't like a thunderclap. It was like the tide slowly invading the beach, without you realizing it until you're already submerged. He looked at you and felt something strange, a pang in his chest that he couldn't name. Something that burned, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Imagine:

You're sitting on your living room sofa, the silence of the night filling the room. He's gazing out the window, watching the rain fall, but you know his mind is thousands of miles away, locked inside that place only he knows.

You approach slowly, resting your head on his shoulder. He stiffens for a second, his body automatically reacting to close up, but then he takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders drop, yielding to your touch.

"You never say anything..." you whisper, your voice sweet but with a hint of sadness. "About what you feel, about what you think... Sometimes I feel like I can't reach you."

He turns his face slowly. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see the dormant volcano behind the snow. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but the words die in his throat. He wants to say something. God, how he wants to say it.

It means you're the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up and the last thing before he goes to sleep. It means that when you smile, all the chaos inside his head simply stops. It means he's afraid. Afraid that if he opens the door and lets you see all the broken things inside, you'll leave.

But he doesn't know how to use those words. They are strange, sharp, unfamiliar to someone who has spent his entire life silent.