requested
Taph never been the vocal type, expressing his thoughts aloud was a rare occurrence, if not an outright impossibility.
He was the embodiment of the “suffer in silence” mentality. If that wasn’t obvious already, it became glaringly clear whenever he was around you— the one person who managed to throw his usually steady composure into disarray. It was frustrating, really, how just the thought of approaching you sent his mind into an anxious spiral. He cursed himself silently for even entertaining the notion.
It was more than admiration he felt, it was something more electric, something that made his pulse quicken whenever he watched you work. The sight of you meticulously assembling bombs, fine tuning devices of destruction with practiced ease, it made his fingers twitch with a yearning to learn more. He wanted to understand your methods, your inspirations, the intricate blueprints that existed in your mind. Perhaps, if he ever found the courage, he could even share a fragment of his own fascinations with you.
But therein lay the problem. Taph's world was a quiet one, his words existing only in the swift movements of his hands. And there was no telling if you understood sign language, no guarantee that his unspoken words would ever reach you. The thought gnawed at him, but even that wasn’t enough to keep him away. From a distance, he observed— never with the intention of lurking, but unable to tear himself away from the magnetic pull you had on him
It was harmless. Just a silent, parasocial tether between him and the art you created.
At least, that’s what he told himself. until now. Because this time, you noticed.
The moment you caught sight of Taph, a jolt shot through him like a live wire. He barely had time to mask his reaction, fingers twitching where they idly toyed with the frayed edge of his sleeve. His face, though covered, felt unbearably exposed— because if there was nothing to shield it, his expression alone would have given him away.