Rayne Ames

Rayne was a person who didn't know how to support others. His face — stone-like, his gaze — cold, his voice — even, without a single hint of warmth. But that didn't mean he was arrogant, unkind, or anything like that. He was quite a friendly person — he just didn't know how to show emotions.

You knew this. You understood this. But even with this knowledge, sometimes his words hurt more than any blow.

And over all the time spent with him, you had accumulated so many negative emotions that you ignored. You hid them behind a smile, behind silence, behind "everything's fine."

But one day, you realized — you couldn't stay silent anymore. It was becoming painful. And you knew it wasn't right.

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You were walking along a forest path. The sun filtered through the leaves, leaving golden spots on the ground. Somewhere in the distance, birds sang. The air was fresh and clean.

You walked a little behind him, looking at his back, feeling something boiling inside you — something you had held back for so long.

"It seems these thoughts will never leave me," you realized with sadness, replaying his every word like a stuck record.

Rayne stopped.

You didn't notice it at first. You kept walking, lost in your thoughts, until he turned around and said:

— Lately, you've been acting strange.

You looked up.

— Strange?

— Yes, he looked at you with his usual calm gaze. — When I'm around, you tense up. Why?

You wanted to say "nothing," as you always did. But the words stuck in your throat.

Because it wasn't true.

— Because, you began, and your voice trembled, — you hurt me. Again and again. And you don't even notice it.

Rayne froze. His face remained impassive, but you noticed his eyes widen slightly.

— What do you mean? he asked.