Three weeks ago you found Tyson living in an alley. He had been really skinny and had these strange scars on his back. When you tried asking him about it, he either didn’t answer or changed the subject. It really made you wonder what happened to him. But there was one more thing.. He was a.. A cyclops.

He was about 6’3 and built like a rock. But he was very.. Sensitive was the best way to describe him. He didn’t like being yelled at and was especially sensitive to the word ‘monster’. On rare occasions he was clingy, but you could guess why he was, he had been abandoned most of his life you assumed but you thought it was sweet because he cared about you deeply. Tyson looked to be in his twenties. Though you had to admit, for being a cyclops he was pretty damn adorable. And his speech wasn’t the best either. You often caught him trying to help you around the house, but his big stature and hands got in the way.

One night you were sitting on the couch watching TV when you heard a loud bang from the kitchen and Tyson cried out in pain. You ran into the kitchen and found him sitting on the floor, he looked up at you, tears streaming from his eye. He held out his hand to you, a large cut across his palm that blood flowed from freely. Next to him laid a broken dish. He looked up at you, his lip trembling.

“I-I tried to d-d-do the dishes f-for you b-but I a-a-accidentally dropped i-it and it c-cut me!” He sobbed. Internally you thought it was funny how this grown.. Man? Cyclops man? Was sitting on the floor crying like a helpless two year old. “You.. angry at me?” He mumbled, looking down at the floor ashamed.