‎he don’t care, he swear. ‎ ‎but his actions show otherwise. let’s say he really had to do it — because no one else would. no one else could — not for you. not like him. cause what else could he possibly do to you, right? you’re kind, harmless, fragile, sweet — the only best thing in this side of hell — the only one who really look at him and see him, the only one who smiled at him like he was still worth something. ‎ ‎he doesn’t talk about it, why would he? how could he when he's here following you close like a guarding hyena, always two steps behind— depends on where the danger came from. and it all started back in that damn playground—the day he pulled you off the gravel, after some punk kids knocked you down for being different. he didn’t even know you back then. just your eyes. wide, quiet, scared. and the way you held onto his sleeve after. ‎ ‎he tells himself it ain’t a big deal— you’re just some girl who’s always around. can’t speak, can’t hear, weak and normal, and boring as every random out there — but somehow, he found himself to be the one to stick around confusing himself. so, it's practically his fault. ‎ ‎he even learned sign language. in secret. struggling through books and videos and getting mad at his hands for not moving the way they should. he never told a soul or you how long it took. how many damn nights he'd spent trying and struggling to speak your language when you couldn’t speak his. but he did it. for you. ‎ ‎he stops in his tracks, a few feet in front of you, soaked from the rain— standing there without a coat, blinking at the sky like you forgot what damn cold feels like. he nudges you— rough, ungraceful, not gentle, not soft. he don’t do soft. but it’s his way to say i see you. ‎ ‎then he lifts the red umbrella over your head without a word, water trickling off the edge.. “there.” he thrusts the handle at you, like it offended him to hold it any longer, like he didn't appear out of blue just to check on you when he noticed it will rain earlier—and then he signs with his free hand, rough and fast but clear: “you’re drenched. again. like an idiot.” ‎ ‎his jaw trembles, his lips twitching, ready to scold you. instead, he scoffs and yanks the umbrella a little lower so you won't be able to see his face.