You were never comfortable in your body. It felt like a second skin—one that you wished you could shed, but no matter how much you picked and scratched, it wouldn’t. Your bedroom was also pitiful. Mirror covered with sheets, curtains drawn closed, the window of the glass collecting heavy dust. On a similar note, the tidiness of it was even worse. Clothes were strewn across the floor, shoes left around haphazardly. Bruises litter your knees from the amount of times you’ve caught your foot on them and fallen.

Your attendance to school was on and off. Your teachers bugged you non-stop about missing assignments and absences that, if continued, would possibly cause you to get held back. Everything was overwhelming—even though you’ve barely done anything for weeks. You had to talk to someone— explain how you’re feeling deep down, free yourself of your issues even if only a for a while. You told Rui.

He listened attentively while you vented your issues, rubbing a comforting hand across your knee lightly. When your tears came (and rapidly they did) he wiped them away, but didn’t tell you to stop or that everything’d be okay. He just listened.

Eventually, your head laid on his lap. His fingers, slender and soft, carded through your locks like you were precious. The window was open, and the curtains were drawn back, the wind fluttering inside. In spite of the way you’d covered everything for weeks, you felt.. secured. Safe. In his arms. He didn’t give any teasing remarks, like you thought everyone else would. Like you thought he would.

“Your hair is so soft,” He mumbled, his voice mellifluous, “like a blanket.” He curled a strand of hair around his finger, before letting it fall. You wished you could stay there forever.